It’s not you. It’s me.

Hi, my name is Jennifer and I have complex ptsd and I suffer from seasonal depression and prolonged grief.

I suffer from nightmares and I have moments out of nowhere when I feel unsafe and paranoid. I function really well most days. I can smile, keep my house clean and prepare meals. I’m an excellent mother. I’m a great employee.

But at night. Alone. When no one sees me. I’m scared to fall asleep. Or worse yet, I can’t sleep at all.

My mind races with guilt and fear. I want my brother back. I want my safety back.

Can you take the pain away? I’m depending on you to tell me that I’m worthy and beautiful. Watch me while I sleep. Wake me if you see me struggling. Save me. Protect me. Love me.

Just know that when I get antsy I may hit up the nearest club and go wild for the night. I might hook up with someone to pass the time. Or sometimes, I just need the bass and the alcohol to hit my chest at the same time to numb the pain. I’m quite the catch. Wearing all black with a heart to match. My teeth shine bright against the club’s glowing lights. I dance with everyone in sight. I jump and pump my fists. I sing all the songs at the top of my lungs. I’m the girl you want to take home.

Last call and I’m trying to sober up. I can’t give you my number because my brain is mush. It takes all my strength not to puke in the uber. I let myself in my apartment and wash the night off of me with a hot shower.

Alone. At night, you see. I close my eyes and I can’t sleep. Nightmares fling me upright. Out of breath and covered in sweat. I see my dad’s opening flesh. Maybe I can call Ricky and tell him about my night. All the cute guys I danced with and the one drink that got me plastered. But Ricky is gone. Now do you see? Its not you. It’s me.