The Ring

I once had a ring stolen during P.E class at Great Marlow Secondary school . In P.E we always had to put all our jewlery into this large Quality Street box, this was mandatory, but when I came back from P.E, it was gone.
Since I was around 11 years old I have been wearing my mothers and biological fathers old wedding rings, of course no longer the one that got stolen, but the one who has my fathers name and their wedding date ingraved on the inside I still wear.
I never take it off, when when I do, just for a split second, there is a deep ring-like crater around my finger of where it sits.
Since I was 11 I have been wearing this ring.
I can't seem to take it off. I find myself addicted to written evidence, written evidence.
I feel helpless and insecure without my ring, and with it I feel kind of stupid. Just about every day people ask me if I am married, and I must admit, sometimes on holiday, I say I am just to get people of me. But usually my answer is "No, I'm not married, this is my parents old wedding ring and I lost one, but I have been wearing this since I was 11". People give me the "Stupid-look", like as if a simple "no" would have been sufficient. It never is. Even when I just say no the questions come, "it looks like a wedding ring", "what kind of ring is it then?".
I find myself addicted to written evidence. Not only the ring with my fathers name ingraved, but other papers.
When my Grandmother died my mum made herself a "Holy-chest" as I call it. A little chest full of her memories, pictures, sick-card, hat, lipstick, including her passport.
My step-grandfather want her passport back because it states in the back that "in case of death, return to state". I refuse this, I've taken it, and unless the state comes knocking on my door and rips it out of my cold, dead hands... they are not getting it.
I feel like everyday she is slipping away, dissapering with time. Her passport is my evidence that she acctually existed to others than my family and I.
The ring is my evidence that I have an acctual father and no unknown one-night-stand.
These things matter to me. They are my evidence. They kind of keep my whole world patched together with silver-tape.
I find myself adiccted to written evidence