Some days, it feels like the system isn’t just failing us; it’s breaking us piece by piece.
Every shift feels like stepping into a raging storm, where the winds of stress whip through, relentless, unyielding.
I am surrounded by people who inspire me with their courage, their unwavering compassion. But I am also trapped among others whose words cut deeper than the workload, whose actions make the unbearable feel impossible.
This isn’t an accident.
It’s cruelty by design, a system built to wring us dry.
And we endure it—not because we should, but because we must.
We are overworked.
We are understaffed.
We are underpaid.
We are fighting battles we never signed up for, in a war we cannot win.
Every day feels like drowning.
Each moment, I stretch for a lifeline that never comes.
Above me, they watch, hands folded, unmoving, as I gasp for air.
It doesn’t have to be this way, yet it continues. We are stuck in an endless maze, each corridor a mirror reflecting our exhaustion and despair. The walls shift; the exits disappear. And here we are, clawing for sanity in a game rigged for us to lose.
I carry the weight of stories that break me.
They are written in grief, etched with sorrow, threaded with heartbreak.
The system lets them pile up, lets the suffering fester,
because healing would cost too much.
Too much accountability. Too much change. Too much courage.
Some days, glimmers of hope sneak through the cracks. A thread of connection, a rare victory, the spark of a smile from someone you’ve helped. These flickers remind me why I keep fighting, why I keep getting up, why I pour out pieces of myself every single day. But they are just that: flickers. And the weight of the system, of the indifference, of greed and power and endless chaos, is enough to snuff them out again and again.
How much longer can a broken body stand?
How much more can a fractured soul give?
How many times can we be thrown into chaos, told to keep going,
left to bleed dry while the system watches—but never acts?
Even the brightest among us are dimming,
their light eclipsed by the fog of this cruelty.
Even the strongest among us are falling,
the weight too heavy to bear alone.
I ache for something better—for myself, for the patients who trust me, for those of us who refuse to stop fighting. But the cost feels unbearable. Survival feels impossible. I am exhausted.
Still, I want to believe we can change it. If I have learned anything, it’s that we’re only as powerless as our silence. But sometimes, it’s hard to speak my voice—to find the strength to share the weight of what’s inside.
Saying what needs to be done for the millionth time; my voice is hoarse from yelling out, worn from hoping people in power, the system, will finally listen.
But even in the cracks of despair, with a burning throat and a heavy heart, I won’t stop. Because despite everything, I still believe that one voice, joined with others, can be powerful enough to shatter the silence—not only to break it but to expose the cracks and lies in a system that thrives on keeping us quiet.
Every echo carries the truth, forcing light into hidden shadows, unraveling what they hope remains unseen.
Together, we can dismantle what’s broken and rebuild something better.
English