There’s a difference between strength and having nowhere to disappear.
Proem — The Pacing of Time
They say, “Take it one day at a time.”
But nobody tells you what happens
when the days come faster
than the time you’ve got to survive them.
Stanza I — Alzheimer’s Arrived
Twenty-twenty-three, a room, a chair,
a doctor’s quiet voice and a thousand-yard stare.
One word dropped and it changed everything,
Alzheimer’s arrived like a thief with a grin.
Didn’t smash down doors, didn’t make a scene,
just took the pieces of who she’d been:
names and stories, appointments, time,
till I started carrying the things left behind.
And I’d beg, “Mum, please, help yourself too,
eat a little better, there’s things we can do.”
But how do you save someone lost in the rain
when the storm in their mind won’t let them explain?
So I became carer, defender and guide,
the memory, calendar, voice at her side.
And the weight took a seat, said, “Don’t be afraid.”
Then smiled at me softly.
And stayed.
Stanza II — Life and Terror Collide
Then my son arrived, and the world turned gold,
tiny hands, tiny heart, a future to hold.
But joy doesn’t cancel the storm outside,
sometimes happiness and terror collide.
A frightening pregnancy, fear in the air,
blood loss, uncertainty, constant despair,
trying to be calm when you’re scared to your core,
trying to hold everyone while I can’t give much more.
New father, carer, partner, son,
crisis manager, jobs stacked one by one,
and somewhere between nappies and hospital dread,
I realised I hadn’t slept inside my own head.
Stanza III — The Four-Legged Heart
Then our fur baby seizing, God, every night,
every sound made my nervous system ignite.
Mum with Alzheimer’s, a newborn to raise,
a dog with epilepsy, permanent haze.
I’d sleep with one eye and my body on call,
a creak in the house and I’d leap down the hall.
Meds given every eight hours, not one minute more,
not resting, just waiting for something to break,
a life built around what disaster might take.
Then neurological collapse, seizures relentless,
holding him tightly, trying not to feel helpless,
rushing for help while the whole time I know,
loving him meant letting him go to his forever home.
And people say, “Just a dog.”
They don’t understand,
some hearts have four legs
when they’re holding your hand.
Stanza IV — The Betrayal
And then came the cut that went deeper than pain,
the only two supports we had turned away.
Replaying old memories, wondering when
the people beside you stopped being your friends.
I didn’t need saving, I wasn’t asking for praise,
just don’t pull the bricks while I’m holding the weight.
Yet they did.
Stanza V — The System
Then came the system, the fees and the flaw,
a government blunder, the maximum cost.
Co-contributions never put in place,
all we get is a “Sorry,” but care out of reach.
Emails, MPs, ministers, calls,
advocates, inboxes, bureaucratic walls,
months of explaining the same damn thing
while caring full-time and barely breathing.
Category Eight? Still waiting in line.
Personal care will be free? Taking its time.
Every door opened into another delay,
every “we understand” meant “not today.”
And don’t tell me systems are built to protect
when the vulnerable suffer while files get checked.
Stanza VI — Hospital Lights and Goodbyes
Then my Mum back in hospital lights,
fourth bag of blood and another long night,
sitting beside her, watching machines,
thinking, “How much can a person be asked to withstand and still breathe?”
Before I recovered, another goodbye,
my uncle’s funeral, my voice running dry,
holding my grief in the palm of my hand.
“You’re so strong,” people say.
No.
I’m just here.
There’s a difference between strength
and having nowhere to disappear.
Descent — The Hyper-Vigilant Mind
Phone rings, jump.
Dog’s gone, grief.
Baby cries, up.
No relief.
Mum needs care.
Forms need names.
Emails sent.
No one explains.
Sleep breaks.
Heart races.
Mind scans rooms.
Sees worst cases.
Silence isn’t peace anymore,
it’s just the gap before another chore.
And that’s the madness,
not screaming at walls,
it’s sitting in quiet
and waiting for calls.
It’s nothing happening
and still being afraid,
because trauma doesn’t leave
when the danger has stayed.
It teaches your body
that calm is a lie,
that if things feel peaceful,
something’s about to arrive.
Climax — Necessary
SO I’M NOT STRONG!
I’M JUST STILL HERE!
I’M JUST TOO RESPONSIBLE
TO DISAPPEAR!
I DIDN’T BECOME SOME WARRIOR
FORGED IN THE FLAME,
I BECAME NECESSARY!
THAT’S NOT THE SAME!
And necessary people
don’t break on command.
They fracture in showers,
in cars, where they stand.
At three in the morning
when nobody needs them,
that’s when the ghosts
of the whole world meet them.
And somewhere beneath it,
my nervous system screams:
“If you’re not expecting disaster,
you’re just living in dreams!”
Coda — One More Reason
But then my son laughs.
And everything stops.
For one second,
the world gives back
despite all it took.
And I remember,
I have strength at my side,
I still care.
I still love.
I still rise.
Still look for light
with exhausted eyes.
So maybe I didn’t survive
because I was strong.
Maybe I survived
because love kept giving me
one more reason
to carry on.
— The Red Pill Poet 🥀