Am I a figment of my own imagination?

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What if I don't actually exist? Maybe I only think I exist. And if it turns out that I in fact don't exist, does that mean I don't have to pay taxes? Do I still owe seven tenths of my immortal soul to the overlords at Visa? Does my Columbia House DVD Club membership remain in good standing? These are just a few of the questions that keep me up at night, and keep my therapist cheerfully buzzing around town in his zippy little BMW. But if I don't exist, I guess that means that my therapist also doesn't exist. Or maybe I'm a figment of HIS imagination! In that case, perhaps he only imagines that he's a therapist, while actually he's all laced up in a straight-jacket somewhere bouncing in a rubber room. If that's true, his therapist must be driving a Porsche, no, probably a Ferrari. Unless, much like myself, Ferraris are ALSO a figment of my imagination, or his imagination, or his imagination's imagination. Any thoughts?