Just to be clear (and one must always try to be sparkling clear about
such things or psychiatrists make even more furious little scribbles in their
notebooks about you), the new meds are not working.
Not one iota.
Not a smidge, not a skoch, not a wee little bit.
My obsessive worry about patently unworriable things is just as keen as
ever.
Tomorrow will be my last day on this trial run. Therefore, tomorrow
will be my last day of popping that particular pill.
Good.
Well, not good exactly, but
it’s all fine. I’ve been living this way for twenty-odd years, let’s give
another twenty a go.
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
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