Am I Normal Yet? by Holly Bourne Page A

“Here it is.”
    â€œThanks.” Sarah leaned over and took the paper, fanning it out, scrutinizing it.
    A Worry Outcome survey is a therapy thing – a thing you only get to know about if you’ve been through The System.
    I remembered the first time Sarah asked me to fill one out.
    My first Worry Outcome survey
    I was rocking in the chair, my foot buckling back and forth on the carpet, riding through the relentless adrenalin surges. Everything looked dangerous. Even Sarah was dangerous. I’d spent the car journey convincing myself she was actually a serial killer, who earned trust from her patients before killing them and making it look like suicide.
    â€œNow, Evelyn,” she’d said, putzing about on her computer. She hit enter and a sheet of paper slid noiselessly out of the attached printer. “I’m going to give you something called a Worry Outcome survey. Have you heard of them before?”
    I shook my head.
    â€œIt’s just like homework. Nothing scary.” Like she knew what scary was … “ But I want you to take this sheet around with you…” Around where? My bedroom, i.e. the only place I spend my life? “And whenever you get a worry, I want you to fill out the first three boxes.”
    She held out the sheet. I didn’t want to touch it. Where had it been? Where had her hands been? What if Sarah’d been to the toilet before our session and not washed her hands afterwards with soap and water? I pictured the bacteria multiplying on her fingers. I could almost see their luminous glare in real life. I whimpered away from the sheet.
    Understanding, for this session at least, she put it on the table. “Let’s look at it from here, shall we? You can pick it up with gloves later.”
    I thanked her with my eyes.
    â€œNow…as you can see…the first column is the date. So note down the date you get that worry…”
    The paper had a giant table on it. It looked like this:

    â€œSo, I’m what? Supposed to fill it out when?”
    â€œWhenever you have a worry,” Sarah replied.
    â€œEvery single one?”
    â€œEvery single one…well…if they start to repeat themselves…just tally it. Then we can see each week if your worry came true and, if not, it may help you challenge some of these unhelpful thoughts. Now…do you think you can do that?”
    I nodded slowly. It sounded a lot less scary and a lot more manageable than the other crap she’d tried to get me to do since I was unsectioned. Like only wash my hands ten times after going to the loo instead of fifteen times. And drinking fresh milk rather than those tiny capsules of long-life milk that can survive a nuclear holocaust.
    â€œGreat.” She beamed and pushed the piece of paper over. I stared at the one lonely sheet of A4, looking all hopeful on the mahogany table.
    I started laughing. Really laughing. A snort even happened. Sarah looked around self-consciously. “What is it?”
    â€œAre you kidding me?” I asked, gesturing towards the paper.
    â€œWhat? What’s so funny? I don’t get it.”
    Bless her, she looked genuinely baffled. I guess I didn’t laugh much in that room. More sobbed. And wailed. And yelled, “NO YOU CAN’T MAKE ME.”
    I laughed myself out and pointed to the paper.
    â€œYou’ve told me to list every worry I have, as it happens, and you’ve only given me one sheet of paper?” I snorted again.
    Getting it, she smiled. “Do you not think one sheet is enough?”
    â€œI think you should print out some more.”
    She smiled more broadly, and hit the keyboard. Another survey slid out.
    â€œAnd again.”
    Another slid out.
    â€œAnd again.”
    And one more.
    â€œSurely that’s enough?” she said, after the fifth sheet was added to the pile.
    â€œYou have no idea what you’re dealing with.”
    At the next appointment, I presented