IDENTITY THEFT - by Phayvour

When people say they suffer from an identity crisis, I understand… but at the same time, I do not. I understand because I suffer from it, too. But I do not understand because theirs seems so simple. Something you can fix with therapy, self reflection, or a change in lifestyle. They have a choice. They can reinvent themselves if they want to. I, on the other hand, do not have a choice. My identity crisis is carved permanently into my life, into my name, into the person the world believes I am. It is the type you can never undo. The type that swallows you whole. It all started on a cool evening in June. A quiet Sunday evening. Mom and Dad were having dinner with Uncle Adam, while my twin sister Annabelle and I played in the garden. They kept calling us to join them at the table, but we refused. We had both agreed that we did not like Uncle Adam.He visited every Sunday evening, always with that crooked smile and a lollipop in his hand. A lollipop for each of us.He thought it made him friendly but to us, it made him terrifying. He reminded us of the stories our classmates told about creepy men, about what they did to children after offering sweets.I remember Priscilla's story the most. How her uncle had given her lollipops for two weeks straight before trying something horrible how she only escaped because she bit him hard enough to make him run.We were convinced Uncle Adam was the same. So we stayed away.That evening, Annabelle grinned and came up with her usual mischievous idea. "Let's swap necklaces," she said. Mom and Dad gave us those necklaces because we were identical, no scars, no birthmarks, nothing to tell us apart. This wasn't our first time switching identities to prank our parents. So when she asked for mine, I didn't hesitate. We exchanged necklaces. And then she ran inside proudly as "Agnes." When she stayed inside too long, I followed. I walked in, expecting her to giggle and expose the prank. Instead, I found Mom and Dad looking devastated, angry and confused. "What happened?" I asked. They turned on me instantly. "Why did you do that to your sister?" Mom cried. "Do what?" I asked, staring at them. Annabelle sat beside them, staring at her feet, refusing to look at me. I didn't understand. Until I saw it. The red marks all over her body. Scratches. Welts. As if someone had hurt her. "I didn't do anything!" I shouted, terrified and confused. They didn't believe me. They yelled. They screamed. They told me to stop lying. I thought Annabelle would speak up. I thought she would explain but she didn't. So I apologized, thinking maybe it was part of her prank and she'd fix everything after. That night, she refused to talk to me. She slept in our parents' room. When I asked for my necklace, she shook her head. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, calmly. Before bed, my parents called me Annabelle. I am Agnes. But I played along, hoping it would be sorted in the morning. It wasn't.The next morning was chaos. There were Police cars outside the house with ambulance lights. Mom was crying uncontrollably. Dad was seated by her side, trying to console her, but he was clearly furious. Annabelle sat curled on the couch, staring at her feet again. Dad stormed towards me. "You're going away for a long time," he said. "You will pay for what you did." I kept screaming, I'm not Annabelle! I'm Agnes! But nobody believed me.Later, I learned what had happened. Uncle Adam had been stabbed several times with a table fork. And Annabelle claimed I did it. Not Agnes. Annabelle. And they all believed her. They all thought I was Anabelle and she was Agnes. No one believed me. My evil twin had stolen my identity. And she never gave it back. Ten years later, as I sit on the cold iron bed of this institution, facing these blank white walls, I keep replaying that night. What if I didn't swap necklaces? What if I didn't trust her? What if I ran instead of followed? Would I still be Agnes today? This is a different kind of identity theft. Not the kind you fix with passwords or police reports. The kind that destroys your life from the inside out. I was forced to live with an identity that wasn't mine. A stained name. A stained reputation. A life I never chose. And the real Annabelle? She's still out there… living as me.

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