I actually looked up how medical malpractice worked earlier this year when I found out that the ENT surgeon who performed my first sinus surgery in 2025 didn’t actually accomplish any of the surgery goals. Unfortunately, medical malpractice basically demands someone is dead or maimed. I am neither.
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I found out in July that I am not bipolar. This misdiagnosis presented a huge shift in my life. I was excited to tell people I didn’t actually have this devastating illness. But after I started talking about it, I realized something… no one seemed all that happy for me.
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I have bought a few pairs of new pants to tide me over before I reach my goal weight and replace my wardrobe. Of course, I don’t know what my goal weight is, or when I will reach it, but that will not stop me from planning ahead!
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So last Thursday, I went in for what would be my second surgery this year. I thought it might be a good idea for me to revisit all of the various health ailments I have been experiencing and give an update on their current status.
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Once I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, all of this seemed to make sense. Of course, I was strange, I had severe mental illness! My bizarre persuasions were pathological now. But now that this diagnosis has been termed a misdiagnosis, the reality has set in that there are no excuses left. I really am just a bit strange.
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When I was a kid I always felt like I was constantly out of my depth. The complex post-traumatic stress disorder that I lived with robbed me of an identity. For me to compare myself to someone else was silly. It didn’t matter what the comparison was going to be, I would always imagine myself losing horribly. There was no point in trying!
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Jade went to my parent’s church and my mom was friends with her so she was a fixture in my childhood. When I was 17, I got a job at the same restaurant where she worked part time. And there I met Mark, who would become my first boyfriend. He had just turned 36.
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The second someone explained to me that it was a journal where you could write down all of your deepest thoughts and feelings, but it was totally public, I could not even comprehend why anyone would want this. Even as a teenager I knew this was basically an unending portal of angsty teen drama.
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I read The Good Body by Eve Ensler in college and I desperately yearned for the kind of self-acceptance it modeled. But I wasn’t there yet. But I got there eventually. As equal parts apology, acknowledgement, and wonder, I want to say a few things about my body. All of them are way overdue.
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When I was in high school I was absolutely obsessed with autobiographies. Naturally, I thought one day I might write my own autobiography. Of course then, I thought I would never have anything interesting to say. Oh, high school Star, you sweet summer child.
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My belief in human goodness was so high the test called me naive. Which I’m fine with. That’s the worst thing you can say about me? I’ll take it. Also, for trauma survivors, it’s common to show higher rates of distrust of other people. My distrust was low. I’m not sure how I managed that. But yeah, that’s correct.
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When I think about it, I never thought the year I turned 40 would be the year I became who I actually am without physical illness and without diagnoses of mental illness that no longer fit. This leaves me only one question now: What am I going to do for 41?
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