Benzo Berea Confronts Inner Demons in Haunting New Alt-Pop Single “PTSD”

Edmonton-raised, Vegas-grown artist Benzo Berea has always known music was her calling. Born Mercedes Cameron, this alt-pop powerhouse brings a lifetime of emotion and experience to every note she sings— and her latest single, “PTSD,” is no exception.

A two-time Calgary Music Awards nominee and an artist with deep musical roots—her grandfather, Tawl Ross, was the lead guitarist for the legendary ‘70s funk band Funkadelic, and her mother, a Canadian country singer, Benzo Berea, fuses soul, R&B, and urban pop influences into a sound that’s raw, relatable, and uniquely her own.

But “PTSD” is more than a song, it’s a confrontation with pain, memory, and survival. Reflecting on the scars left by past trauma, Benzo navigates themes of mental health and emotional chaos with lyrical precision. "It must be the PTSD / Cause the thoughts within my brain make me feel crazy," she sings, voicing a sentiment that resonates with many struggling to make sense of their inner world.

The track dives headfirst into vulnerability, but it’s also a declaration of strength. After surviving a life-threatening surgery in 2015, Benzo emerged with an even more powerful voice, both literally and figuratively. “PTSD” is a product of that resilience, turning darkness into melody and reflection into release.

“This song is about embracing the parts of ourselves that are difficult to face and finding a way to heal,” Benzo shares. “It’s a deeply personal story, but it’s one I hope others can connect with as they work through their own struggles.”

With “PTSD,” Benzo Berea cements herself as an artist unafraid to go deep—proving that pop music can be both cathartic and transformative. It's a must-listen for anyone craving authenticity in a world full of noise.

“PTSD” dives deep into emotional and mental struggles—what was the moment or experience that sparked this song, and how did it evolve during the writing process?

“PTSD” didn’t come from one moment—it came from surviving too many. Years of unhealed childhood trauma, complex PTSD, panic disorder, anxiety, depression, and the weight of spiritual battles I never asked for. I spent years in survival mode—fertility struggles, chronic pain, a premature birth, and a separation that left me emotionally gutted. Add to that the dark experiences I’ve had navigating spiritual warfare—witchcraft, voodoo, manipulation through energy and intent. As a medium, I’ve seen the light and the dark in ways most people don’t talk about. Eventually, it all caught up. I went from constant “flight” into complete “freeze.” Writing “PTSD” was my way of thawing out. It started as a cry for help in silence, and it became a declaration of survival. It’s not just a song—it’s a release.

You’ve faced some serious challenges, including a life-threatening surgery in 2015. How has that experience shaped your voice—not just vocally, but as a storyteller and artist?

In 2015, I had a surgery that came with a 4% chance of survival—and I was pregnant at the time. Doctors discovered two cysts wrapped around my thyroid that were so infected, they had started eating through my sternocleidomastoid (SCM) muscle. During the surgery, my entire SCM muscle and three-quarters of my thyroid were removed. I woke up with 72 metal clips in my neck, permanent nerve damage, and vocal cords left exposed. I was told I’d never sing again—if I lived. But God had other plans.

Not only did I survive, but so did the baby I was carrying. He’s nine years old now and one of my five beautiful children—four boys and one girl. That surgery triggered long-term conditions like fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue syndrome, and nerve damage, but it also ignited a fire in me. My voice may not have the same physical range it once did, but what I lost in technique, I gained in truth. I sing with everything I am because I fought for this voice. Every note is an act of defiance. Every lyric is a piece of my survival story. I’m not just singing—I’m living proof that even when life takes everything, purpose can still rise from the pain.

Your musical lineage is incredible, from Funkadelic to Canadian country roots. How do those contrasting influences show up in your sound or creative process today?

I’m a blend of grit and grace. Funkadelic gave me soul, rhythm, and the freedom to be loud with my truth. Canadian country taught me about emotional precision and storytelling. My music lives where those two worlds collide. I might write like a country artist but sing with the weight of a soul singer. I let the story dictate the sound—whether that means a haunting R&B ballad or an alt-pop anthem with gospel undertones.

My creative process is deeply spiritual, and I always ask God to lead it. I don’t create alone—my faith walks into every session with me. Jesus is my anchor, my compass, and my covering. Every lyric is a prayer, a testimony, or a cry for healing. If it doesn’t reflect truth and purpose, I don’t record it.

As someone blending genres like alt-pop, R&B, and soul, how do you navigate staying authentic while also pushing boundaries in today’s music landscape?

Authenticity, for me, isn’t optional—it’s survival. I’ve seen too much and felt too deeply to pretend. My mental health diagnoses aren’t trends—they’re truths. My spirituality isn’t branding—it’s real. Whether I’m singing about trauma, healing, or spiritual warfare, I lead with experience. I blend genres because no one sound can hold the complexity of what I’ve lived through. Staying authentic means I check in with myself constantly—Is this real? Does this serve healing? Am I proud of this message? If the answer’s yes, I don’t care what box it fits in. I’m not chasing trends; I’m chasing transformation.

What message or feeling do you hope listeners walk away with after hearing “PTSD,” especially those who may be silently battling their own inner demons?

I want them to know they’re not crazy. They’re not broken. They’re human—and deeply spiritual beings trying to navigate this dark world. “PTSD” is for the ones who hear voices, who cry in silence, who’ve survived abuse, warfare, loss, and manipulation. It’s for those haunted by past lives and current battles. I hope the song gives them permission to feel, to release, and to seek something higher than the pain.

I want people to find faith again. Not religion—faith. In God. In healing. In purpose. Because even in the darkest places, we are not alone. “PTSD” is the sound of someone who’s been through hell—but still found the strength to sing.