Hello Foggy Mind.
So, .. you’ve searched the web for a cure, and then accidentally found this page.
The Google Traps.
Alzheimer. Alzheimer’s. Alzheimers. I’m mentally fucked. I’m fucked. My heads fucked up. I’m thick. Confusion. Vascular Dementia. Dementia, .. these are well crafted words to draw the bots in.
Well, .. here goes, there ain’t no cure for the Alzheimer condition, but that doesn’t mean you can’t beat it.
– And change.
Change btw is guaranteed, especially when you read this type of medical shit on the web.
Stage 1: No Impairment. During this stage, Alzheimer's is not detectable and no memory problems or other symptoms of dementia are evident.
Stage 2: Very Mild Decline.
Stage 3: Mild Decline.
Stage 4: Moderate Decline.
Stage 5: Moderately Severe Decline.
Stage 6: Severe Decline.
Stages 7: Very Severe Decline.
Concentrate on the first stage.
It’s called being normal for fucks sake, which just goes to show you how much the medical profession really knows. They know Jack!
Also: keep that jack fact in mind, as you inevitably progress on with your own moderate decline deciphering my detectable personal web page, that will never get severe in its overall progressive stage. It’s all bullshit.
Some Background Required.
In 2007 I was driving for a living, .. delivering parcels for a large courier company, and also secretly suffering from the fog of having the classic thick plasticine head that went with ** Alzheimers.
** It should be noted here that Alzheimer is a word in the singular, that was in fact bestowed upon the unwitting human race by Dr. Alois Alzheimer in 1906.
So, .. from noting that startling fact: then it’s obvious that there is no such word as Alzheimers per-se, but everyone pronounces the brain dead mind-numbing word like that, so I’m just going along with the trend of the common man: now, lets continue on with the monotone repertoire of the witless author.
When working I couldn’t even focus on what I was doing driving from A to B then onto C, and as for telling you what I delivered the following day: that was out of the question.
- And as for asking me what I was doing one hour ago down the road, and where I was going next?
- Forget it.
I — no doubt, like you — was hiding it — and I hid it well by writing little notes to myself. Are you hiding it as well?
I didn’t want to admit that I had a problem, and I was damned if I was going to go to the Doctor with my symptoms.
** Instant Damnation, followed by no job to pay my bills: the delivery company I worked for was big, but even they wouldn’t have supported me.
I knew it was bad, and I also knew that it would get worse, but I wasn’t prepared to accept any of that shit as my ultimate outcome.
What I had in my favour, was the Internet: so I dug! – I looked, (like you are doing now), but unfortunately from reading the many official forums and approved medical articles on-line: I slowly came to the conclusion that I was screwed.
The depressing truth is, there is no conventional fucking cure.
This body knew that (it) was doomed to become a vegetable, dribbling down (its) own chin in a nursing home. Shitting in a nappy, and then being slapped around the head for being. ‘A Bad Girl!’ – By an arse-hole nursing assistant called Jack, who didn’t care what I was; nor even what I had been in my life. All he knew, was that I’d shit myself: again, and it was almost Jack’s clocking off time.
There must be more to life than this.
And there is, but read on; to get your feet wet in the hard facts of life first.
One depressing fact did come through in my research though, ..
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