Dazey’s Diary: The Accidental Rise of an Unhinged Villain
Dazey’s Diary: The Accidental Rise of an Unhinged Villain
A Spicy Caregiver Memoir
The Cottage · 2020s · Late Night
Dearest Diary,
What the actual fuck did I get myself into with this “blog turned book” idea?
I am not a writer. The “others” will tell you I’m barely fit for humanity — useful only for doing the things they didn’t want to do, so they can hunt for every flaw, walk the fuck away, and leave me holding 100% of the blame while they slither off with a clean, shiny 0.
They grabbed every script and “healthy communication tool” from social workers, doctors, and caregiver guidebooks and turned it on me like a weapon — all because I said one honest line:
“She needs a schedule, a routine. If you want to take her out, make memories. Don’t just hang out here and pretend interest. She is hyper‑aware; she’s not daft.”
That one boundary shook the core and lit the fuse on a combustible few years. It was what she asked for, and what her doctors wanted too: cut down her stress, protect what’s left of her quality of life, and give her a peaceful slide into memory care at home after a lifetime of chaos.
Blunt truth: they are “the others” for a reason. In their story, I’m the unhinged, childish, villainous bitch — the 24/7 caregiver who “knows nothing” while they’re the all‑knowing victims. This is not a story where the family comes together at the bedside and heals. It imploded in fiery fuck‑you vibes and never came back. “Block her. Block me, I don’t give a rat’s ass — just don’t unblock,” was the last line of the last text. The calls and in‑person chats ended long before.
They taught me that receipts matter and that I should move forward deliberately and with intention. They’ll also tell you I bait them for content on a blog they despise — and they’re not 100% wrong. Just 99% wrong. I don’t bait; I compile what is with what they ignore.
This blog, maybe a book if I ever sit down long enough, wouldn’t exist without the chaos between one Sassy Ass Loved One and “the others.” #creditgiven
After years of telling this wild, unfiltered story online — always redacted, with no names or relationships — two things kept happening: “Thank you for saying what nobody else will,” and “You are so creative to write such fiction.” That’s when I realized this wasn’t just a mess; it mattered to every caregiver carrying a version of it, even while everyone else cast us as the villain in their highlight reel.
I can promise you, it isn’t fiction. It’s real life — my life: nine years in Alzheimer’s care with a seriously spicy, precocious, hyper‑aware woman, and all the people she carried before life took a sharp turn down a new lane.
I needed a safe space for the chaos, the receipts, the ugly truths, and the pitch‑black humor. I get called an unhinged, vicious bitch and the best caregiver — amazing at it all — in the same damn hour.
My life has never been calm. The tragic dysfunction of the elders before me, plus the ones who slither in and out for transactional relationships, set the stage. But the last decade?
Bat‑shit crazy.
A hot mess of trauma and dark humor in memory care — while “the others” don’t get it, and she’s over here with short‑term, sassy‑ass memory loss thanks to Alzheimer’s.
I didn’t wander out of a spa day thinking, You know what I need? Another light, inspirational little caregiving memoir. The ones that preach “communication and patience” and “stay the course, you’ve got this.” I didn’t need someone explaining why they can’t see what I live.
Maybe you did — and who am I to assume? But that’s not this prologue. That is not this blog. This is not that life.
The fire started decades ago. This is just the ashes still burning.
Maybe it’s your family group chat.
Maybe it’s your nervous system.
Maybe it’s your whole damn life.
Welcome to Dazey’s Diary — the realities of what really happens when Alzheimer’s, family drama, and a foul‑mouthed Italian daughter collide.
Buckle up for a ride that’s equal parts raw and dark, with plenty of “oh no she didn’t” moments. Expect intense honesty, sharp edges, and scenes where humor and heartbreak collide.
If you’re looking for a sugar‑coated story, you’re in the wrong place. If you’re ready for candor with a side of spicy, sassy, won’t‑give‑in‑to‑the‑toxic relief, you’ll feel right at home here.
This Is Not Soft‑Focus Caregiving
This is:
bat‑shit‑crazy, reality‑TV‑level plot twists
“Oh no, he didn’t” / hold‑my‑vodka‑martini energy
vicious‑bitch‑vibes texts you pray never see daylight
receipts, boundaries, and a crown no one asked for
I didn’t set out to be the villain.
I just refused to fail — or behave.
Meet the Unhinged Villain
For 51 loud, messy, beautiful years, I’ve played every role in her life:
daughter
friend
business partner
co‑conspirator in coffee, cigarettes, and side‑eye
Then came the role I never auditioned for:
Caregiver — to a brilliant, hyper‑aware, stubbornly independent woman with Alzheimer’s.
From the outside, she’s adorable: spice and sass, telling old stories, smiling at visitors. A “sweet little lady” who “seems fine.”
From the inside? Different movie.
2 a.m. panic because she can’t remember where she is
accusations that I’ve stolen her purse, her keys, her life
reality ripping and reshaping under her feet while everyone else watches the highlight reel
The “others” — the family and spectators who loved the version of her that didn’t need this much care — ghosted when it got too real.
When I built the structure she needed — schedules, meds, rules, no more wandering in thunderstorms — I got recast.
Suddenly I was:
The controlling bitch
The brick‑fucking‑wall
The “toxic” one
The Unhinged Villain of their story
Spoiler: I took the crown.
If I am going to be the villain anyway, I might as well own the role — and tell the truth.
Inside the Cottage Bubble (Where the Real Story Lives)
Our world is small but intense: a little house out back we call the Cottage, where her reality makes sense to her, even when it doesn’t line up with the calendar, the clock, or anyone else’s opinion.
I call it the Bubble.
Inside the Bubble:
Time is weird. Yesterday might be 1987.
Logic is wobbly. Arguing doesn’t fix it.
Safety is a moving target — one fall, one scam, one late‑night wander away from disaster.
Outside the Bubble:
People have opinions
People have feelings
People have social media
They see a twenty‑minute highlight reel:
“She seemed fine when I visited.”
“She remembers so much!”
“You make it look easy.”
I live the director’s cut:
the meltdowns after they leave
the paranoia
the bathroom disasters
the nights listening to her breathe, just to make sure she’s still here
Everyone loves the old version of her.
Almost no one is signing up for the one I’m taking care of now.
That’s where Dazey’s Diary comes in.
The Bubble, the Loop, and the Reset
To survive this, I had to name the chaos. Otherwise, it all dissolves into static.
The Bubble – the small, fiercely protected world where her reality makes sense to her. Facts can bend, years can blur, but she feels safe. You don’t drag her out; you go in and meet her there.
The Loop – the stuck‑on‑repeat question, fear, or accusation that shows up every thirty seconds, five minutes, or all damn day. It’s the soundtrack you can’t turn off, even when you want to.
The Reset – the moment I stop trying to win the argument and choose peace instead. Not because I’ve given up — but because her brain literally can’t follow. The Reset keeps us both a little more intact.
Every chapter of this series spins somewhere inside that triangle: Bubble, Loop, Reset.
Sometimes it’s heartbreaking.
Sometimes it’s slap‑ya‑sideways funny.
Sometimes it’s both, in the same paragraph.
You’ll see:
The Diagnosis Slap — when the word Alzheimer’s hit the chart, and she looked at me like I’d betrayed her
The thunderstorm escape — barefoot, in the dark, on the phone with an “other” hyping her up
The night my terrified text about her safety turned into “you’re too controlling” and “you’re mean to us.”
And through all of it: one foul‑mouthed Italian woman who refuses to go quietly, and one exhausted daughter who refuses to walk away.
Caregiver, Not Concierge
Somewhere along this road, people confused a caregiver with a concierge.
Suddenly, I wasn’t just:
managing meds, meals, and meltdowns
tracking bills, appointments, and bank accounts
preventing car keys + brain atrophy from becoming a true‑crime episode
I was expected to:
host drop‑in visits whenever guilt struck
provide emotional room service on demand
make sure everyone else “felt normal” — no matter the cost to her or me
They wanted:
surprise visits (“We’re in the neighborhood, open the door?”)
chaotic outings (a.k.a. let’s blow up her routine)
constant access (“3 a.m. texts and calls”)
What they didn’t want was to:
respect the schedule that keeps her calm
adjust to her new limits
deal with the fallout when she spirals
So I wrote a new rule:
Calm only. If you can’t live in her Bubble, you don’t walk in.
If your visit:
wrecks her sleep
spikes her anxiety
blows up meds, meals, and rest
…it’s not a kindness. It’s a hit‑and‑run.
I’m not running a drop‑in center.
I’m guarding a fragile routine that holds her brain together enough to get through the day.
If you want in? You follow the plan that keeps her safe.
If that feels like too much? You’re not looking for a caregiver. You’re looking for a concierge.
And that’s not who lives here.
The Strong Caregiver Story… and the One Underneath
People love the strong caregiver narrative.
You know the one:
endlessly patient
endlessly capable
endlessly available
never a tone, never a boundary, never a crack in the armor
They want inspirational posts, not receipts.
They want silver linings, not storm updates.
Alzheimer’s is a medical condition. Mental health updates are just as important as physical ones. They’ll get both, or none — the others can choose. I send the updates. If they block me, that’s not on me. They don’t get to say I don’t share.
Meanwhile, my reality looks more like this:
I remember every med and every appointment.
I manage every mood — including the ones you caused. #asyouwish
I listen to every late‑night, “I used to be so smart” grief monologue.
I’m told, “You got what you wanted,” when I enforce the plan we all agreed to — the one she wrote, and her doctor approved. I became the brick‑fucking‑wall. #testme
From the outside, it looks like I’ve got this.
On the inside, it feels like I’ve slowly disappeared.
The better you get at surviving this, the easier it is for everyone else to underestimate the cost.
Dazey’s Diary is me turning the autopilot off.
Not to blame. To name.
Not to attack. To invite better questions, clearer conversations, and actual support.
If You’ve Lived This, You’ll Feel It
You are my people if:
The group chat goes dead (or blocks you) the second you share unfiltered reality or dare to ask for help
You’ve been called “unhinged” for having clear communication, routines, schedules, and boundaries — the exact things professionals told you to build
You’ve heard “You got what you wanted” on repeat — their excuse for not stepping up and the official story for why you’re “mean” to them (never to her, of course — just to them)
The entitled “others” show up with big opinions and nothing to contribute to safety or stability — just spying, click‑meanness, and gaslight gymnastics
You’ve sat in the dark listening to your loved one list the names of the ones who vanished when the money ran out
You listen for breath in the night, just to make sure they’re still here
If that’s you?
You are not unhinged or vicious.
You are the Caregiver.
You didn’t ask for the crown.
You’re wearing it anyway.
Your Binge‑Read, Not a Handbook
This is not:
a clinical guide to dementia
a pastel Pinterest board for “caregiver self‑care.”
a guilt‑trip manual or a Hallmark movie
This is:
a binge‑able, brutally honest ride through nine years of Sassy Ass Alzheimer’s
diary entries, texts, and stories from inside the Cottage Bubble
hot tips and scripts you can actually use on zero sleep
sharp‑edged, darkly funny, “oh‑my‑God‑she‑said‑it” moments
Along the way, you’ll get more than stories. Expect:
real talk that validates everything you’re carrying
solidarity in the mess you’re living
practical scripts you can actually use
This series is here to remind you: your struggle is seen and your sanity matters. When you close a tab or a chapter, I want you to breathe a little easier and know you’re not alone in the chaos.
You’ll find:
Hot Tips for the worst days — little tweaks that might make the next meltdown 2% less awful
one‑liner scripts to borrow when the group chat goes nuclear
permission to stop auditioning for approval and start protecting your own sanity
You don’t have to earn support by being perfect.
You don’t have to make it palatable to deserve help.
You don’t have to soften the language to make it meaningful.
The inspiration is already in the fact that you:
keep showing up
name the hard things
still find humor, grace, or at least a good “fuck this” in the middle of the mess
Caregivers, Spectators, and Everyone in Between
This series is for:
the default one — the person who stepped up because no one else would or could
the underpaid concierge of everyone else’s guilt who’s done taking those bookings
the spectator who finally realizes, “I don’t actually know how hard this is — but I want to.”
If you’re the caregiver:
You’re not wrong for feeling invisible.
You’re not “too much” for wanting to be seen as a person, not just a role.
You’re allowed to tell the truth, even if it changes how other people see the situation.
If you’ve been on the sidelines and you want to do better, start here:
“I’ve been thinking about you and realizing I don’t really know how hard this is. Would you be open to telling me more?”
“I might have assumed you’re okay because you’re good at handling things. Is that actually true?”
“What is one small thing that would make next week easier for you?”
Awkward is allowed.
Late is allowed.
Showing up anyway is what changes stories.
Caregiving in the 2020s is bananas:
tech‑savvy elders
deepfakes and scams
family dynamics that have been rotting for 60‑plus years
cultural scripts that still say, “You’re the daughter, that’s your job.”
Dazey’s Diary doesn’t fix any of that.
What it does do is:
tell the truth out loud
hand you language for the chaos (Bubble, Loop, Reset)
offer you a seat in the Cottage Bubble so you don’t have to white‑knuckle this shit alone
If you’re tired, furious, still showing up, and wondering if you’re the villain for wanting peace and structure — this diary is your permission slip, your toolkit, and your “you’re not crazy” note from a stranger who gets it.
Pour the coffee.
Adjust the messy bun.
Flip off whoever needs flipping off.
Then turn the page.
We’re going to tell the truth here.
#asyouwish
#testme
#fuckit
#burnbaddieburn
