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Right after I was wounded, I seemed to be some new-born creature that just looked, listened, observed, repeated, but still had no mind of its own. ...Because of my injury I'd forgotten everything I ever learned or knew. ...Mostly because of my memory that I have so much trouble understanding things. You see, I'd forgotten absolutely everything and had to start all over trying to identify, recall and understand things. ...
I'm in a kind of fog all the time, like a heavy half-sleep. My memory's a blank. I can't think of a single word. All that flashes through my mind are some images, hazy visions that suddenly disappear, giving way to fresh images. But I simply can't understand or remember what these mean.
Again and again I tell people I've become a totally different person since my injury, that I was killed March, 1943, but because of some vital power of my organism, I miraculously remained alive. Still, even though I seem to be alive, the burden of this head wound gives me no peace. I always feel as if I am living in a dream - a hideous, fiendish nightmare - that I am not a man but a shadow.
(Luria, 1972, pp. 10 - 12)
The story in Zasetsky's notebooks tells of a courageous, continuing effort to restore his lost mental functions. Zasetsky's torment illustrates clearly the critical importance of learning and memory in the normal activity of the human brain.
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''Every man's memory is his private literature'' ~ Aldous Huxley
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