Denabear Time

Join me on #MyMentalIllnessJourney where I’m #KillingPTSDErryDay from the effects of Childhood Neglect, Molestation, Rape, Sexual Assault During Military Service, Traumatic Brain Injuries, Constant Anxiety, Deep Depression with my #420GoodVibesforVets, #CocoaBeachKetoQueenness my awesome man the #CocoaBeachNativeChiroBoy constantly by my side, and a deep seeding unwillingness to give up!

Day 1…it starts here. What is it? Who the fuck knows. Honestly, I’m not even sure. There are so many things I want to accomplish through opening up. I want to quiet the noise inside my head. It becomes all so overwhelming all the time. So much so, that the last year…maybe two…I lose track of my days, my nights, my weeks, my months, my years….all of ’em. Maybe this is a way to start keeping track. Being accountable. Dare I say my first steps to becoming a 33 year old adult? Or, maybe I just want attention like all the rest of the starved little kittens out there. However, as soon as that thought crosses my mind, my inner voice immediately berates me for being selfish and narcissistic. Why would anyone want to get to know me or hear from me? It’s a struggle I’ve lived with my entire life and I’m finally the external help I’ve always needed to quiet the internal beast that beats me up constantly.

So my internal dark one now beckons…”these people do NOT give a flying fuck about you or your problems.” Then she strifes to say “haha like people are actually reading this you narcissistic pig…” Maybe they won’t, but fuck it, let’s try anyway. That’s one thing the Air Force taught me is to try and let others tell you no. Don’t count yourself out…yea I grew up counting myself out. Sssoooo,…I’ve decided to give it a whirl if only for my own sanity.

A little about me you ask? I grew up in what I had always considered to be a pretty normal household. I have a little, bro five years younger, and my parents came across as always trying the best they could. As we all do. The “holy shit! I’m a stone’s throw away from an episode of Intervention devoted to ME! moment in my life was the time my dad’s father molested me, around the age of 11. We could get into the whole discussion of molest vs rape culture, but why? My problem is not and has not ever been with the molestation itself. Guess I always knew my grandfather was a disgusting pig of a man, it was only time before he put his hands on me. Wait!…What? You Say?!?! The problem here in lies that my very vivid photographic memory remembers this…

After it happened (I dissociated…my first time of countless) we were all to meet at Quincy’s…home of the fucking yeast roll. Yeast roll…fucking gross…anyhoodles (thanks to @christinap I fucking LOVE THIS WORD) I remember being at the restaurant next, and my momster asking if I’d join her to go the ladies room. Once behind closed doors I completely lost my shit and told her what had happened…but guess what mommy dearest did. Told me to wipe my tears, put a smile on my face and we’d talk about it later. Cut to a few days later in my dad’s truck on the way home from weekly karate lessons, I VIVIDLY remember turning that corner and seeing HIS truck in the driveway. My dad slowly inching toward it. As I’m typing now, my wind pipe chokes up and tears are welling. I know I’m about to be a trapped animal. After the truck is slowly put into park, dad looked over at me with tears filling his own eyes. I didn’t know dad could cry.  I pleaded, “no daddy, don’t make me go inside.” All he could do was hang his head and say, “I know baby, lets just go inside and get it over. Tell them what happened.”

What happened? My grandfather’s lying eyes filled with tears, his jaw dropped in disbelief from the disgrace that spilled out of my mouth. My grandmother said maybe I had fallen asleep since after my shift at the gas station where I was helping out before dinner since I could not recall what had happened from the first touches to the ride to the restaurant. They both told me I had been sleeping on the bench before we left for Quincy’s. (dissociation) Neither my mother nor father stood up for me or said anything. For years after that I had to see this man all holidays and whatnot and act like everything was ok…

So what? That was over 20 years ago, I should be able to move on right?!? I wish every fucking day of my life it was that easy! I’m a medically retired Air Force Veteran trying to figure out what the fuck happens next. Since this shitty thing happening, and my being silenced for so many years, I ended up internalizing a lot, never learning to say no, or protect myself. I’ve been raped and assaulted numerous times throughout the years. Before my time in the military and while I was serving. My father committed suicide. I suffer constantly from suicidal thoughts and ideations. Twice in the last four years I have made serious attempts to take my life and I have no idea why I’m still here. So many veterans end up in this situation, and I said it wouldn’t be me. I’m too smart. I’m too driven. While in the service I earned a BS and MS in Space Studies from the American Military University. I never sat still. Naturally, I had my sights on an Aerospace engineering degree, so that I could continue to do what I thought I loved. The only reason I didn’t go pick this path in the first place was that I could not attend the difficult class while on active duty.  Now was my chance…until….

Everything catches up to you in the end doesn’t it? All the emotional suffering throughout the years that was silenced by others eventually turned me emotionally inept to deal with myself. I imploded. Do you care? Do I care? Well I don’t care if you do. Honestly, this is the first time I’ve ever cared about me in my life and that’s why I’m here.

My story has a shitton of gut wrenching downs, some gut busting laughs and a fuckton of what the actual fucks

Stay tuned if you dare for my mental illness journey to recovery. Who knows if I’ll ever find the destination, or if there even is one, but I’m making this a hell of a journey!

#Denabear #DenabearTime #DenabearThoughts #MyMentalIllnessStory #CocoaBeachKetoQueen #AirForceVeteran #ChildhoodTrauma #SexualTrauma #Rape #PTSD #SuicidalThoughts #LoveYourself #SelfCare #LoveYourselfLikeYourLifeDependsOnIt #DepressedPeopleCantjustGetOverIt #ReachOutToYourLovedOnesBeforeItsTooLate #KillTheStigma

8 thoughts on “Are you ready?…I’m not…Shit here she goes…Surf’s up!

  1. Nat says:

    Hi Denabear,

    I hope it’s ok if I join you on your journey. This time last year I wrote publicly “nothing bad has happened to me… I don’t have a reason to be depressed”. A lot has happened in a year. Like admitting I had buried abusive experiences and being raped by a partner. I wanted to say it is really insanely difficult to speak it aloud. Especially publicly. And I admire you a fuckton (hehe love that term so much).

    I am glad you are alive. I’m glad you’re talking about it. And I hope that writing your blog helps you as much as reading your blog helped me.


    1. denabear84 says:

      Thanks Nat! This has been a crazy fucking roller coaster of emotion to say the least but I see healing on the horizon!! I’ll Absolutely check out your blog too. I’m new to the WHOLE blog scene so I’ll be digging through the archives once I get my life a little more 🙂

      Lots of Love Always!!

  2. Carrie says:

    I can’t see your images… 🤔

    1. denabear84 says:

      hopefully fixed!

  3. Devon says:

    You are an amazing brave person! So glad to know you and call you a friend.

    1. denabear84 says:

      Thank you lady! Miss and love you!

  4. Caleb says:

    Great post! Where’d you come up with the nickname and logo?

    1. denabear84 says:

      Thanks dude! I was given the nickname Denabear when I was a freshman in high school. I had the logo in my head and the amazing guys at @logozLab helped make it real.

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: