Closing photo

With this post, I wrap up my photo memories (and, soon, this blog). I was originally going to share this photo with my Christmas memories. However, something caught my eye. And I'm not talking about whatever is on the surface of the photo. It's a great shot, probably taken by either my grandmother or a family friend. I was very young, and this was taken at our first house.

I've ruined my fair share of family photos. I was always the one making faces or putting bunny ears on someone. It was typical lastborn stuff, though not always appreciated. No one cares anymore. But this photo is darn near perfect. Except I'm looking at my mom while everyone else is looking at the camera. I was enjoying the fact that everyone was happy for a moment. And that's what we forget: photographs are just moments. They don't always tell us the whole truth. But I can tell those smiles are genuine. 

What I like about this photo, and this is why I chose to close with it, is it shows how important it is to me that other people are happy. I'm not a self-contained unit as I've tried to be my entire life. I need people, and I want them to be happy. I want to make them happy, if possible. I lost a very important reason to live when I went through my divorce because I lost the ability to at least try to make someone happy. Really, it's not possible to make someone happy, but we can contribute to their smiles and laughter and thoughtfully add to their lives in meaningful ways. Happiness is largely a function of our relationship with God and our general usefulness and position in life. So, all my trying to make others happy was in vain anyway. And if trying to make someone happy doesn't even make them happy, then what is the point in trying? So my marriage was a lose-lose proposition.

One of the meanings of the name Joshua is "gift of God," or "given of God." I am a generally humble person, so don't jump on me saying I'm God's gift to humanity. That's not what I'm saying, and I'm the first one to say it doesn't mean that. But in all my relationships, I tried my best to make those around me happy. I gave myself to that purpose. True, I often failed. Some may say I was selfless, that I wanted to make others happy, but they don't see why I was selfless. In making others happy, I perform my purpose. And having a purpose makes one happy. So, not so selfless. Just a roundabout way of making myself happy. 

At some point in this process, I realized I sanitized and whitewashed my memories, which to some may seem disingenuous. Maybe. It could be a protective mechanism because memories tell us who we are and where we come from. I choose what I remember. Memories are reconstructive anyway, pieced together from whatever we wanted to make sense at the time. Because memories inform us of ourselves, why wouldn't I choose the good stuff over the bad? I'm not hiding the bad stuff on purpose. I lived it but didn't love it, and now I don't need it. 

I need the good stuff. Why would I want to remember all the times my mom had emotional/mental breakdowns and I tried to comfort her (child trying to be a parent is so unhealthy) or the two times my oldest brother shot our puppies dead (and bragged about how the blood splattered) or all the times someone forgot to pick me up from baseball or school? Or the times I was severely bullied and beaten by my brothers to the point of bleeding and dissociation? Or the hundreds of times I was told to be quiet? And the times I wished with all my might to die because I thought my family hated me? Why did I feel safer by myself than with people? I could ask these questions and many more until I'm sick in the stomach again, as I often feel when I think about my childhood. It is healthy I left things out. Eat the meat and spit out the bones. Focus on the positive.

Regardless, what the enemy planned to destroy me turned me to God. What I experienced was essentially haphazard trauma-based mind control (TBMC). Everything I've read about TBMC is consistent with what I experienced. It wasn't just that I had an abusive childhood. It went beyond that. The programming that was put in me as a child is still there. The alters are still there. (I have clearly broken the no-talk-no-tell program, if only on this blog.) When I try to dismantle the programming and reintegrate the pieces myself, the self-destruct program is triggered. Though this may sound frightening, it means I am getting close to reintegration. God willing (and perhaps slowly) that will happen. I want to be free from all of this. Please pray I am faithful to complete this process. The programming is robust and defends itself in many ways. Only God has the keys.

I chose this photo because this is how I want to remember my childhood. We remember the stuff that was odd about our lives. We don't remember the normal stuff because it doesn't stick out, begging for an explanation. I have a lot of bad memories, but I'm going to tell myself that it is because they were anomalies. I don't recall all the mundane good times because they were the norm. In reframing my entire childhood (hopefully without lying to myself), I achieve closure. I can't change my abusive/neglectful childhood, but I can change how it affects me today. It is a lesson worth living, as even now I can't change how people treat me. But I can change how it affects me. 

At its core, this approach is forgiveness. Sometimes we don't forget, but we don't have to forget to forgive. And how can I continue to be bent out of shape when I know there are numberless others who experienced things far worse and longer than what I did who are still in the clutches of their tormentors? I pray God sets them free. I pray God frees all of us. Let God bare his mighty arm.

Thank you for reading, and God bless.