Identity Theft

Someone stole my identity.  Not just cards and details, but they actually stole me.  And now I’m lost.  You see I’m not who I used to be, nor who I’m meant to be.

When I was a kid I wanted to be a pre-school teacher, I played netball a lot, loved art and writing and then I grew up.  And I played netball a lot, and coached and worked, in admin, usually in fairly high level positions.  I became good friends with all of the staff I worked with, the managers and the directors.  We socialised a lot, I played netball a lot, and I worked hard. 

And then it happened.  Just like losing my wallet. It was that quick.  A thief called CFS AKA M.E. had come in the night and stolen my identity.  I woke up after two years and was no longer me.  I could barely remember my life and certainly couldn’t live it. 

Where there was certainty was now an abyss.  Where there was purpose there was now no need or use.  Where my memories were stored was empty, like a library with all the books checked out.  Where my heart had beaten now was a gaping hole. 

Someone stole my identity.  Someone stole me.