fourty two

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Which just proves it: I'm in charge of my graph. Me. And if I want a straight graph, I'll have a straight graph.
So at my next session with Dr. Gobber, I lie a little when I'm filling in my tick boxes.
Have you experienced worries most days? Not at all.
Do you find your worries difficult to control? Not at all.
He looks at the sheet with raised eyebrows when I hand it to him.
"Well. This is an improvement!"
"You see?" I can't help saying at once. "You see?"
"Do you have any idea why you've improved so much this week, Henry?" He smiles at me. "Life's good, is it just that? Or anything else? Any changes?"
"Dunno." I shrug innocently. "I can't think of anything that's changed in particular."
Which is another lie. Something that's changed is: I've stopped taking my meds. I just take the pills out of the blister packs and chuck them away in a screwed-up envelope. (Not down the loo, because all the chemicals get into the water or whatever.)

And guess what? I haven't noticed a single difference. Which just proves I didn't need them.
I haven't told anybody. Well, obviously I haven't, because they'd stress out. I'm going to wait, like, a month and then I'll casually tell everyone and I'll be like, you see?
"I told you," I say to Dr. Gobber. "I'm cooked. I'm done. All better."

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