Grieving the Loss of Myself

Last month my identity was stolen. It might not have been such an excruciatingly horrid experience if it were not for the fact that we are smack dab in the middle of buying our dream property—you know, with the necessary credit checks, title searches, folks googling our names to be sure we are who we say we are. It is only by chance that we discovered my stolen identity, as it is in most cases. There is no Stolen Identity Bureau of the government who notifies us when our social security number has been used illicitly.

The nightmare began when we attempted to file our tax returns electronically, like we have for years. To our surprise the system rejected our returns because someone had previously filed using my social security number. We are lucky because the fake return was rejected, which means the thief did not receive our refund. We are unlucky because our refund will now be held up for 180 days while the IRS proceeds to confirm I am who I say I am. And unlucky because we were forced to file via snail mail (certified & registered) – complete with an affidavit, a form explaining what happened, the police report case number, and copies of my social security card and passport. Continue reading

How I Nearly Ruined My Own Birthday Celebration

Depression–it rears its ugly head when you least expect it. I will not refer to it as something I suffer from/with. I prefer to say it is my dirty little secret which I cannot quite manage to be done with (once and for all) after years of keeping company with it. I try to portray myself as one who has everything under control always. There are days however, when that is easier said than done. Even when I don’t feel it, I have a Happy Face + Attitude (HFA) that I tap into—on most days. Periodically the dreaded depression sets in deeper than I’d like. Those are the days I try to hide from the world until I can get my HFA back on track, but this week it was out of my reach. I picked up the phone when it rang and my daughter was on the other end asking what I wanted to do for my birthday. Poor thing, I do feel bad for her.

Birthday BunnyNothing. Nothing at all. I hate my life. I want to run away. I want change. I wish I lived on a farm, was my sad, forlorn, woe-is-me response.

She had to hang up pretty quickly after that. I don’t blame her. I’ll talk to you Saturday, she said. Continue reading