Fiona Phillips, once a vibrant and beloved face on British television, has spent decades greeting audiences with warmth, energy, and her unmistakable smile. But behind that public image is a private battle that has been chipping away at her life, her memories, and even her sense of self — Alzheimer’s.

Diagnosed at just 61, Fiona has now opened up in a raw, unfiltered confession that lays bare the reality of living with this cruel disease. This isn’t the polished version you read in a press release — it’s the truth from a woman who knows her days, her moments, and even her own identity are slipping through her fingers.

“It’s like I’m still here… but not all of me,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “I can feel myself fading away, and yet the world just carries on, as if nothing’s happening.”

One story she shared captures the essence of her daily struggle: reaching for a £5 note she spotted on the floor. She bent down, thinking she had it — but somehow it slipped through her fingers. The note was gone, just like that. She didn’t shout, didn’t break down. She simply stared, feeling the same hollow ache that comes every time a memory vanishes. “That’s what Alzheimer’s feels like,” she explained. “You think you’ve got it — a thought, a memory, a face you love — and then… it’s gone. And no one around you even notices.”

For Fiona, the hardest part isn’t just forgetting — it’s the loneliness. The quiet isolation of watching life happen around her while she stands at the edges, unsure of where she belongs. Friends drift away, conversations become harder, and people avoid the uncomfortable reality of what she’s going through.

But perhaps most heartbreaking is the awareness that remains. Alzheimer’s doesn’t just steal memories; it leaves behind a cruel shadow — the understanding of what’s being taken from you, moment by moment. Fiona knows she is losing parts of herself, and she’s fighting to hold on to whatever she can.

She has chosen to speak out, not for pity, but to shatter the silence that surrounds Alzheimer’s. Her message is as much a plea as it is a warning: this disease is not just “forgetfulness” — it’s a relentless unraveling of a person’s life, love, and identity.

“I’m still me,” she insists, “but I’m afraid of the day when I won’t be.”

Her words are a wake-up call for all of us — to see, to notice, and to truly be there for the people fighting battles that aren’t always visible. Because for Fiona, and millions like her, the worst thing isn’t the forgetting. It’s being forgotten by the world before the disease has even finished its work.