Chapter 28
(not me adding personal experience to my own fanfic-)
The days blurred into each other. You didn't really know when it had started, but you could feel the numbness creeping in. The sorrow was still there, buried deep inside you, but it had been replaced by a strange emptiness. You couldn't remember the last time you'd felt truly happy—there were moments of peace, certainly, and there were times when you found joy in small things. But the heavy ache in your chest, the sense of loss, had started to shift into something quieter. And that, in itself, was a relief.
Vi had noticed it too. The way you seemed distant sometimes, the way you would stare off into space, your eyes unfocused. She had been worried when you first started the medication the doctor prescribed, but you assured her that you needed it. It was better than constantly feeling like you were drowning in sadness. And for the most part, the meds worked. The intense waves of grief had dulled, and the deep pit of depression that used to consume you didn't feel as suffocating anymore. It was as if you were walking through life in a fog—a quiet, muted version of yourself.
The doctor had told you that it might take a while to adjust. He had warned you about the potential side effects of the medication, the way it might alter your emotions, dull your highs and lows. But you hadn't been prepared for how... disconnected you would feel. It wasn't that you were unhappy, exactly. It was just that you didn't feel much of anything at all.
The first time you truly noticed the change was one afternoon in the workshop. You and Vi had been working together, the rhythmic sound of tools and the quiet hum of the machinery filling the space. It was a peaceful kind of chaos, the kind of noise that you had grown used to in the months since you started building this new life with her. And for the most part, you had felt like you were doing okay. But that day, something felt off.
You had been working on a new design for the shelves you were building when Vi stopped mid-swing, her hand hovering over the piece of wood. You turned to look at her, confused by her sudden stillness.
"Everything alright?" you asked, your voice gentle.
Vi's eyes met yours, searching your face for something, anything. "You've been quieter than usual. Is everything okay?"
You shrugged, trying to muster up some emotion, any emotion, to show her that you were fine. But the truth was, you didn't really know anymore. The sadness, the grief that had once been so overwhelming, was gone. But in its place was a hollow silence that you couldn't explain.
"I'm fine," you replied, your voice sounding flatter than you intended.
Vi's brow furrowed, a sharp edge of concern creeping into her eyes. She set down the tool in her hand and stepped toward you, her body language tense with something unspoken.
"I don't buy it," she said firmly. "You've been off lately, and I don't think the meds are helping as much as they should."
You felt a pang of guilt—Vi had always been there for you, always been the one who could sense when something wasn't right. She wasn't wrong. You were different. But it was so hard to explain. How could you tell her that you weren't sad anymore, but that you also didn't feel like yourself?
"I don't know, Vi," you admitted, running a hand through your hair. "It's like... I'm not sad anymore, but I'm not happy either. I don't know if that's good or bad."
Vi's eyes softened, and she took a step closer to you, her strong hands resting gently on your shoulders. "I just want you to feel like you again. I miss seeing you light up when something excites you. I miss hearing you laugh. You don't have to force yourself to be okay if you're not, but you shouldn't have to feel... nothing, either."
You looked down, your hands trembling slightly. You hadn't realized how much you missed those feelings—the spark, the joy, the highs and lows of living fully. But at the same time, the numbness was easier to handle. It was like floating through life without the sharp edges of emotion cutting into you. And maybe that was okay. Maybe it was better than feeling everything all at once.
"I don't know what to do," you confessed, the weight of your uncertainty pressing down on you. "I don't want to go back to how I was, but I also don't want to stay like this."
Vi's fingers gently lifted your chin, urging you to look her in the eyes. Her gaze was steady, unwavering, the fierce protective fire in her expression softer than usual, but no less powerful.
"You don't have to do it alone," she said, her voice low and comforting. "We'll figure this out together. But don't shut me out. You're not a burden to me, okay? I'm here for you no matter what."
Her words settled in your chest like a warm embrace, but even then, you still couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness. You nodded, grateful for her support, but still unsure of what was happening inside of you. The confusion was overwhelming. The meds had been prescribed to help you, to make you feel better, and in some ways, they did. But in other ways, they had taken away your ability to feel anything at all.
As the days passed, you continued to work with Vi in the workshop. She noticed the subtle shifts in your mood—how you would sometimes stare blankly into space, or how your laughter, once so vibrant and full of life, now seemed forced. But she kept trying. She would joke with you, throw in a playful comment, and occasionally, she would pull you close for a hug, hoping that somehow, it would make a difference. But the truth was, you weren't sure if anything could fix it. The meds had dulled everything, and you didn't know if that was temporary or permanent.
You still went to your doctor's appointments, hoping for some answer, some direction that would lead you out of the fog. But each time, the doctor reassured you that it was just part of the process. The medication was meant to stabilize your emotions, to keep you from spiraling into that dark place you had once inhabited. And in that sense, it had worked. You hadn't had a breakdown in weeks. You hadn't found yourself sobbing in the middle of the night or losing control of your emotions. But the cost of that stability was a distance, a separation from your own feelings. It was a trade-off, and you weren't sure if you were willing to pay the price.
One evening, after a long day of work, Vi sat beside you on the porch of the workshop, her arms resting on her knees as she stared out at the fading light. You joined her, your legs stretched out in front of you as you leaned back into the chair. The silence between you was comfortable, but there was an undercurrent of tension, an unspoken question that neither of you had addressed directly.
"How are you feeling?" Vi asked quietly, her voice softer than usual.
You didn't answer right away. You thought about it for a moment, trying to find the words to describe what you were going through. But the truth was, you didn't have the words. You didn't know how to explain that you were neither okay nor not okay, that you felt like you were somewhere in between.
"I don't know," you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I think I'm just... stuck. The meds help with the sadness, but I don't know if they're making me feel better, you know? I'm not happy, but I'm not miserable either. I don't know if that's progress or just a new kind of numb."
Vi turned to face you, her fierce eyes softening with understanding. She didn't say anything at first, just studied you with a quiet intensity, as though she could see the layers of emotion you were trying to keep hidden. Then, with a small sigh, she reached over and gently took your hand in hers.
"We'll figure it out," she said simply. "We'll get through this. You don't have to have all the answers right now. We just take it one day at a time."
Chapter 28: The Turning Point (Continued)
Days turned into weeks, and the fog that had settled in your mind continued to obscure everything. The medication that had initially seemed like a solution had only brought a deeper layer of confusion. You no longer felt the overwhelming sadness, but you didn't feel anything at all. The numbness that accompanied the prescribed antidepressants made it harder to find joy, harder to experience even the small pleasures you used to enjoy. You told Vi about the lack of emotion, how you felt like you were floating through life in a dull haze, but she didn't have the answers either.
You'd always known Vi as someone who handled everything with boldness and strength, but this? This was a different kind of challenge, one neither of you had expected. You felt like you were being swallowed by your own thoughts, unable to distinguish between whether the numbness was a temporary reprieve from the sorrow or the beginning of something much worse.
"Maybe this isn't the right one," Vi had said one night, her brow furrowed with concern as she watched you take the pill, your hands trembling slightly. She had noticed your increasingly withdrawn demeanor and couldn't help but feel helpless. She wanted you to feel whole again, to feel something—anything.
"I know," you'd replied quietly, your voice weak. "It's not enough. It's like it's just... holding me still."
Vi's eyes softened with the weight of unspoken concern. She pulled you into her arms, holding you close as if she could somehow absorb all of the heaviness you were carrying.
But as much as Vi tried to comfort you, you knew you had to make another move. You needed a change.
The next doctor's visit felt like a crucial turning point. You sat in the sterile, familiar office once more, waiting for the doctor to come in. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, and you could feel the chill in the air against your skin. You didn't want to be here. You didn't want to have this conversation, but you knew you had to.
"I think we need to switch the meds," you said, your voice small, though you had made up your mind. "The current one... it's not working. I don't feel better. I don't feel anything, really."
The doctor, a calm middle-aged man with a scruffy beard and dark, kind eyes, looked at you with understanding. He was a quiet man, not one for excessive words, but his presence was reassuring, professional in a way that made it easier to trust him. He nodded, as if he had expected this.
"It's not uncommon for patients to experience these types of side effects," he said, his voice warm but matter-of-fact. "Sometimes it takes time to find the right medication, one that works with your body chemistry. We'll try something different. But first, how are you feeling overall? Physically? Mentally?"
You were honest, as always. The sadness was gone, yes, but that didn't mean you were okay. You'd barely been able to find the will to get out of bed some days, despite not feeling the intense lows you once did. Everything just felt... off.
"I don't feel sad anymore," you explained. "I'm not crying all the time, but I don't feel better either. I just... feel blank. It's like the color's been drained from everything. I miss feeling, even if it hurt. I don't know how to explain it, but I don't like this."
The doctor listened patiently, jotting down notes before looking up with a thoughtful expression. "I think it's time to try something else. It may take a few adjustments, but we'll get there. You don't have to settle for this numbness."
You nodded. You just wanted something that worked. Something that would allow you to feel again—whether that meant happiness, sadness, or even just peace. Anything but this emotional void.
After some back and forth, he prescribed a new medication, one with a different chemical composition that was meant to work better for people who experienced the kind of numbness you were going through. It wasn't a guarantee that it would work, but it was worth trying. It always felt like a game of trial and error with medications—start one, see how it affects you, try another if that one doesn't take. It was exhausting, but you were determined to keep pushing, to find something that worked.
The new medication was supposed to take time to kick in, but it had an immediate effect. Within a week, you started to notice small shifts in your mood. The numbness didn't disappear, but it lessened. You began to experience tiny sparks of emotion—something as simple as watching Vi work with her tools, or seeing the sunset on a quiet evening. The dull grayness of life started to lift just a little. It wasn't perfect, but it was better.
However, just as you thought you had found the right balance, a new challenge presented itself. The medication had a side effect you hadn't anticipated. You began to feel restless, unable to sleep, jittery in a way that was almost maddening. It was as if your body was buzzing with excess energy, but your mind couldn't keep up with it. You were exhausted but couldn't relax enough to fall asleep, and your thoughts ran in circles, unable to settle.
"Vi," you said one evening, your voice tight with frustration. "I can't do this anymore. The meds are making me feel like I'm crawling out of my skin. I just... I need something that will work, for real this time."
Vi had been so patient with you through all of this. She could tell you were frustrated, that the changes were taking a toll on you. She wrapped her arms around you gently, her presence a constant reminder that you weren't alone in this fight.
"Let's give it time, okay?" she said softly, her voice a steady anchor. "We've been through a lot, but we'll figure it out. I'm not going anywhere."
You smiled weakly, leaning into her embrace. You weren't sure if the current medication was going to be the answer either, but the reassurance from Vi, the strength of her unwavering support, kept you going. If she could be patient with you, maybe you could be patient with yourself, too.
It wasn't long before your doctor decided to make another adjustment, switching you to a different type of medication that was better suited for your body's reactions. The side effects of the previous medication began to wear off, and this time, you felt an unexpected change. You began to sleep more soundly, and your mood stabilized. You didn't feel the sharp highs of excitement, but you didn't feel as hollow as before either. You could engage in activities without feeling like you were floating in a dream. You could smile again, not because you were forcing it, but because you genuinely felt a flicker of joy.
It wasn't a quick fix. There was no magic pill that made everything better overnight. But with every small step, you felt a little more like yourself. The road to healing, to feeling whole again, was long, but Vi never let you walk it alone.
One evening, weeks later, you found yourself in the workshop with Vi, sitting side by side on the floor, the hum of the tools around you. She was focused on her work, but you were paying attention to the simple joy of being here, in this moment. For the first time in a long time, the weight of grief that had once held you down felt lighter. Not gone, but lighter.
"You okay?" Vi asked, glancing up at you with a raised brow.
You nodded, a genuine smile creeping across your face. "Yeah, I think so. I'm feeling... more like myself."
Vi grinned, her fierce, protective nature softening for just a moment. "Good. Because I've missed you. The real you."
The words hung in the air, but they felt like a promise. It wasn't the end of your journey, but it was a step toward something better. And with Vi by your side, you knew you could face whatever came next.