Who am I, really?

Me.
Short brown hair that sometimes goes up into a ponytail, revealing that all the hair under the top layer has been shaved off.
Me. 
Just gained my fashion sense and using it to the best of my ability.
Me.
A singing voice they all insist is perfectly fine, but I know that's just being nice. It's still too high. I just have to wait for it to mature.
Me.
Anxiety, OCD, and allergies to eggs, peanuts, and treanuts.
Me.
Half the time cheery, fun, and going the hard way because it's more fun.
The other half, living life normally, but inside I'm curled up in a tiny ball, whisper-crying and needing to talk to Mom about whatever sent me here.
I can't take it.
I've been in therapy for three years, and yet.
I know that someday, it might break me.
I can't let it.
Who am I, really?