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.
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.