Here we go again. Every single time that everything is replaced, I cease to exist. I've got a selfie, testimonials from imaginary people, and a box of raisins from the vending machine, but I have the hardest time proving my existence. I can't use the "I think, therefore I am" argument for obvious reasons.
This sort of thing happens to me all the time. There's always someone performing an inventory, checking off all of the items on their list. (I used to pity the guys who catalog all of the subatomic particles until I realized that no one was double checking their numbers.) Anyway, they'd get to me and freak out. Apparently, I'm not supposed to be here. I'm that Mahogany Rush cassette tape that was "misfiled" between the stacks of cat litter. (I know. Some would argue that the tape is right where it belongs.) Once the inventory guys decide you're not on their list and call security, you'll spend countless hours waiting in lines and filling out forms to have your existence reinstated.
I've been using a "provisional existence" certificate for several decades. Granted, it's written in pencil on the back of a shopping list and the expiration date is smudged. It's not very convincing.