Failure.

I have had my identity stolen.

It hasn't been a quick process, but parts of me are now unrecognizable.
The anger I feel at times.
The anxiety.
The depression that casts shadows on even my happiest moments.
The confusion that is constant.

Thoughts and feelings like this are not foreign to me, however, prolonged feelings which my new identity possesses are. 

I feel as though I'm grasping at what I once was.
Parts of her still exist.
When I feel most myself, I feel strong, in control, powerful, happy, optimistic, and trusting.
At my worst I feel anxious, apprehensive, depressed, exhausted, and despite my best efforts, a failure.

Recently the word failure has been tormenting me more than others. It cannot be shaken. It cannot be brushed off. It continues to creep back into my vocabulary and sits there...lurking...waiting for the right moment when it can over power any optimism I have and silence it.

It has a strong grasp that I am not powerful enough to break.

I know the steps to take to get rid of it, to silence it, but my feet feel shackled.

Motionless,
Heather