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!

I decided to start on a funny note today. You’ll see it all ties in. They all circle around somehow. So it’s band camp time, I believe if my warped sense of time serves me right it’s the summer before eighth grade. (definitely post molestation) I base my memories on what color my hair was, and who it was I was dating. I never was much of a trumpet player. Never wanted to be. But I was no fucking quitter either.

Firstly, I wanted to be in choir. when you’re told so many times by she who shall not be named that I should not quit my day job many times, I figured what’s the use. So I tried to pick the instrument that would make me FEEL the most. I needed to get my frustrations out. Of course I wanted what every emotional girl wanted! A violin!! Of course!! Didn’t you want one? No? Well who asked you…oh yea, well…Wake the fuck up 5th grade Dena…you’re in South Carolina…you see and violins around?! So next I picked percussion. But alas I had a vag in South Carolina too. Nothing was really in my favor at this point.

I ended up with the clarinet. Opting for anything to avoid a gym class on my schedule. It looked easy to carry and some of the other popular girls were picking it too. HATED IT! My coordination for that many buttons is non-existent…so I saw the trumpet. THREE BUTTONS?!?! WINNER WINNER CHICKEN DINNER MOTHAFUCKA! Turns out that nickname DSL came in handy for a reason doing nothing with the disgusting act teenage boys were talking about at the time. Turns out I was pretty good, at the trumpet that is. Well the other thing too, but that wasn’t found out until much later!

So back to band camp at good ole Furman University. Bet you thing I was making out with someone gross don’t you. I mean, I was raped, so of course I was. Well Fuck off,…

Since I now assume what was my parents over compensating for their shortcoming to buy my love since they didn’t know how to show it to me by physical or emotional support I had a very rare #NowILookBackAndThinkItWasReDick for a middle schooler, gorgeous, Silver Bach Omega Trumpet. Many of the kids had only heard about them. Naturally it was passed around like the whore I was…shit did I say that out loud? My mother still gives me shit about this story and my blood boils. If you know anything about the human immune system, what happens when the body comes into contact with shit it doesn’t like, it rebels. And my lips rebelled. Immediately! I couldn’t even play in the end concert. Which by the way, I’m pretty sure my parents didn’t travel to come see. There’s a definite trend there you’ll see. I had to be in the limelight for some support, otherwise I attached to other friends parents that were supportive of their kids.

Now every time I recover from a cold, my lips are sunburnt or I decide to blow a horn I get a cold sore…#DenabearLessonsLearned #OverandOut

Start Tuned for what happened to the trumpet! I only got rid of it recently in 2016, the year I should have gone to jail and not to mention flipped a car off a mountain in Hawaii…


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