Identity

     Today my doctor had some pretty serious questions for me, at first I took offense to them thinking he was accusing me of holding onto my disease. I immediately locked up and wanted to run out of the room away from the confrontation because that is how I work, I don't like telling it like it is or telling people my true opinions on things, maybe that is why some of these docs are so quick to grab inaccurate opinions of me. I immediately put my head down, draw my knees to my chest, and cease standing up for myself. Of course they have developed their own opinions because I haven't put myself out there for them to know the real Andrea because I'm so scared of being unaccepted. My doc rolled his little chair in front of my wheelchair and asked flat out, "You have been really sick since you were a teenager, if we find a way to help you and make you feel better would you know how to act if you weren't sick"? 
     I sat bewildered for a moment, almost pissed off that he would even ask such a question. Then it hit me, I looked him in they eye and said that being sick is not my identity. If they told me they could fix it all tomorrow I would be there waiting because there were so many things I was suppose to do and suppose to be before I got sick. What is funny is he told me that was the right answer. Now that I've had a few hours to think on that, there is no right or wrong answer to that question. For years being sick was my identity, I couldn't imagine life without my eating disorder and self harm, couldn't imagine life without the chaos of emergency hospital admits, ignoring my youth, the friends I could have kept, the chances I had to do what I love (sing and play music), graduating college, all those things that you are suppose to enjoy in your early twenties I missed. I lied about why I couldn't go out because I had to go work out and slit my wrist open, I woke up in the ICU after trying to end my life, and I just couldn't see past any of it. No one understood, but I couldn't figure out who I was without my anorexia, I couldn't identify with anyone besides others who were just as lost as I was. 
     When I met Josh I was so lost I didn't even know whether I was coming or going, I had one goal and it was to get the hell out of this world. July 4, 2009 after nearly winning my fight with God and taking my own life Josh broke down a door to find me sitting there staring into nothingness bleeding, making no intent to stop it, I was no one worth saving, I had nothing to give, talents wasted, friends gone, failure at life. He picked me up off that bed and put me in a cab to the hospital, where six stitches later I was "fixed". I was far from fixed, the road would be long and hard and thing only person that could make it was me. I could have all the support in the world, but the only time you get better is if you fight it yourself because you are fighting something in your head. It wasn't easy, my disease fought me, knocked me on my ass every chance she got. Some days the screaming was unbearable and I wanted nothing more than to bleed her quiet or swallow enough pills to knock me out for a few days. One day at a time it became easier, my identity became less of me being sick and more of me having a life. Josh and I went everywhere together, and though the gastroparesis was already taking it's toll on me I still tried so hard to eat like a person...no more safe/unsafe foods, no food rituals, just eating very few bites of whatever I could keep down. I learned to enjoy the things I had deprived myself so long. 
     Things were changing, I was no longer Andrea the anorexic cutter, I was simply Andrea. My new friends didn't care that I had to use a feeding tube to help get my calories in because of the gastroparesis. I was able to walk everywhere, go play in the park, go swimming, I was able to have a life while dealing with my GP. It was short lived as we got news that my gastroparesis was getting worse, my intestines were not responding they way they were suppose to. Every two seconds we found ourselves back in the OR fixings ulcers and bleeds, yet even through all of this I knew it was better than who I was before. I was involved in the lives of three great little kids who loved me and I loved them. I was determined to stay away from the hospital even when I should have been there. Eventually, the surgeon pulled my tube and began TPN even then I refused to slow down because I would never allow myself to be defined by an illness again. Backpack and all I would run around at the park and everything no caring about anything but enjoying life, a life with a purpose. 
     When we found out that Damien was growing inside me the docs told me he would kill me, they told me so many horror stories that no mother should have to hear, but I knew it in my heart and soul that we would make it, no matter how sick I got he would be OK. We made it, my labs barely enough to keep me walking, but when they pulled that baby out in the OR and I  heard him cry nothing mattered anymore, my identity changed, my purpose in life changed...I was a mommy and I would fight tooth and nail to see that little boy grow up just like I fought to keep him healthy while we shared a body. They told me the pregnancy seriously weakened me, the disease advanced, the pain would worsen, and many more things. None of that mattered anymore, I was holding my reason for life. I know who I am and it has nothing to do with being sick...I am simply Damien's mom. Sick or not I hold him when he cries, I sing to him, I dance with him, we read, I tickle him to hear those beautiful giggles, and the pain and the gastroparesis and intestinal failure just doesn't matter to me. 
     Being sick is a part of my life, but no more than doing the dishes or making dinner for my family. I don't identify with it, I go to the doctor and I fight through the pain and I fight for my body to heal so I am here to raise my son. If I woke up tomorrow well, it would be the brightest day of my life, I would run my little boy to the park and play until he wanted to go home, he would take a nap while I scrapbooked and cleaned our house up, and I would relish in the fact there was no pain and so much energy. I would do the things I love again. Most people know I'm sick, but how many know my musical abilities, do you know I lost a scholarship for music because of being sick years ago? Do you know I play four mallet marimba, piano, or sing? I am much more than a diagnosis. I am sick, but I get up everyday even when I have to carry a bucket around with me because I'm a mom above and beyond anything. Some say I risk my life by not going to the hospital when I should, but I would rather be here with my son and my fiance. I am more than this. Trust me, I know that some of my posts and FB status seem to dwell on it and that is simply out of frustration because I want relief, I want those beginning years back where I was sick, but I could still just strap my backpack on and go wherever I wanted and do whatever I wanted. I am ashamed of needing a wheelchair, a walker, needing Josh to help me down the stairs some days. I am a stronger person than that...I do no accept weakness very well at all. 
     I've seen many tragedies in my twenty seven years, things I wouldn't wish on my worse enemy, things I've overcome and had to forgive. A boy took a piece of me away, left me living in a women's shelter for months forcing me to share details with police officers that would just assume have left tucked inside of me. I had very few friends who could understand and my mom would try when she was sober. A few months later I lost my granddad who meant the world to me and then my mom followed. I never thought I could miss her so much, after the years of drinking, bruises, and worse the words that will never leave my soul, but five years later and I weep for her. I spent so many years lying and smiling pretending that everything was okay when it wasn't and everyone knew it wasn't. I made stupid mistakes, I lost people that I wish I still had in my life. I've done a lot of things I regret and I spent years lying and trying to hide who I truly was. I was everything that everyone else wanted and I hated me. I identified with my illness and I can admit that as truth. But, I can tell you this fucking gastroparesis/intestine shit is not my identity. I believe it is my cross to bear, I do not believe it is punishment rather consequence for years that I allowed another illness to tear me apart. I am not a number or statistic and a piece of  paper isn't going to tell you how much I hurt or how bad my body is doing. I've lived my life letting everyone else tell me how I'm suppose to feel or what I am suppose to do. Here's the deal...this is my head and I can promise for the first time in a long time this brain is all Andrea. I will go through with the surgeries and do whatever it takes to be the mom I know I can be for Damien. I will sing again, I will play music again, and I will teach my son how to do it also. 
     I've accepted that I have nothing to prove to anyone...I know the truth and that is all that really matters. People are going to think what they want, they are going to gossip and make judgments based on whatever and I can't do a damn thing about it, but I can keep going. I lived nightmares before, I've seen the boogeyman, and you can either let it run you or tell it to take a flying leap. I am not a size nothing anymore, I suffer from gastroparesis/intestinal failure, I need a tube to get proper nourishment to my organs maybe from the years neglect maybe it all started with that first ulcer at eight, I have my secrets that I will never tell anyone (some things are best left on the shelf in our brains), I am weak, but I am not useless, I do not like to be fawned upon for being sick, I am scared of death and yet prepared, I am in recover from a disease that was going to take my life, I no longer bleed at the end of the day, and above all, I am the mother of a beautiful two year old boy...that is my identity and has been since February 17, 2011. I am not a liar, I will not lie. I suffer from a horrible GI disease, but I am not that disease. I promised my son that I would fight and the only way Jesus is getting mommy off this planet is with me kicking and punching the whole time. I don't feel sorry for myself, I get down and frustrated at times, but sorry...no...despite the debilitating pain and other unpleasant side effects it just doesn't matter because I'm a mom and I will continue to "mommy up" no matter how sick I am. 
     If you want to know who I am it is simple...I am Andrea Michelle Schneider, I lost my mother to her illness because she couldn't see herself as anything else besides an alcoholic, I am soon to be a wife, and I am a devoted mother to my two year old, and I am far from perfect and for the first time in my life I think that is OK. I accept being sick, but it won't ruin however long I have on this planet with my son because I am so much more that that.