Photographic Memory

This is my first nonclassical endeavor. I made it with a very old version of garage band. It's a cover of one of my favorite works by Emilie Autumn. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SVHJla-JbEU

The lyrics describe a phenomenon that's been very common and relevant through my entire life. Here are the lyrics:

Photographic Memory

Emily Autumn Fritzges

Arr. S. Shaw Richner

"You’re not so far away

You’re sitting in the space between the night and day

And so I’ll wait*

For the sound of your footsteps

The tea that’s brewed too strong

Like part of me that’s waited patiently for oh! so long

(At least I tried)

But I’m relying on my photographic memory

While painfully realizing it’s not all it’s cracked up to be

And falling’s just another way to fly

(I wonder why it’s never easier

than the first Time)

-You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.

-I believe in God the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth, and in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord.

-It was a misty morning on the top of a hill…

-All creatures of our God and King…

-Have we met?

-I will give You thanks, O Lord.

-This’ll only hurt a little.

-It’s been a really really really long Time.

-I also love Mendelssohn! Have you heard the Hebrides?

-Oh Sorbie! Bless your heart.

-Hey, how good is your French?

The first time…

Time…"

*The original says “So I’ll wait”. In this cover, there are three voices in unison on this line. One of them is saying “I’ll wait”, but the other two are saying “I pray”.

Sources: The Miranda warning, the Apostle’s creed, poetry and tune by Carl Nagy, St. Francis of Assisi (tune: Lasst Uns Enfreuen, tr. “Let us all joyfully praise”; Auss­er­le­se­ne Ca­thol­ische Geist­liche Kirch­en­ge­sang), Psalm 138.

The lyrics describe clinging to something or someone who may or may not ever return to your life. In my cover, the lyrics are mostly very hard to discern. They are lost in the fog of memory. The irony is that your memory is referred to as "photographic", but in reality, everything you remember fades and warps with time, no matter how good your memory seems. Even those among us who think we remember everything that's every happened to us lose precious things in time. A strong memory is "not all it's cracked up to be", especially when you carry a yearning for things that will never come again. Memories aren't enough to sate such yearning. 

I finished this project a few months ago, but it's particularly relevant to my life right now (see "The Tie That Binds"). There are things I will never get back. There are feelings I will never experience again. Cutting ties is never easier than the first time. Opening your heart, which is both flying and falling, is never easier than the first time. Facing the consequences of doing so is never easier than the first time. 

The first Time...

Time...

Time...

The Tie That Binds

Severing ties is difficult under any circumstances. For a person such as myself who does not form bonds casually, who invests a great deal of emotional energy in attachment, it's especially difficult. Saying goodbye is a great strain. Severing ties—that is, saying goodbye on purpose and forever—is heartbreak.

I've rarely in my brief existence had to cut an entire person out of my life. Never have I had to cut out an entire institution. But it's what I have to do now: I'm leaving my lifelong church.

I don't really know what I'm doing, frankly. I don't know if I even have the resolve for an endeavor like this. I place a very high value on forgiveness. I view it as an important tenet of love: "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us." I forgive all that I can, even though I never forget, because forgiveness is freeing. But I've wondered what my threshold is for trespassing. How much abuse can I take until it's healthier to stop forgiving? When does forgiving yet not forgetting lose its power?

When an institution you trust hurts you, it's damaging. Trust doesn't heal easily. Trust isn't resilient. And I've been hurt by the church more than a few times. It's damaged me each time, on so many levels. Each time, I've found reasons to nurse my trust back to health. Each time, I have reminded myself of the people there whom I need and who need me, and of my involvement in music there, and of all the memories and emotions I would have to leave behind. I spent twenty years there. That church raised me. That church brought me to faith. That church made me fall in love with music. That church brought me so much joy. That church also screwed me over and stabbed me in the back and broke me. And I can't take it anymore.

Things had been relatively good for many years since the last time I got stabbed in the back by clergy. We'd had run-ins, of course; I'm not super good at being compliant or submissive or even cooperative. The last time that the church really fucked with me, I was fourteen. I was a child in their eyes, and, to be fair, in most people's eyes, even though I comported myself as if I were older; the first time, I had just recently turned twelve, and the second, I was thirteen. I was fragile, and I was the property of my parents. On some level, I'm sure they still think of me as that child. I'm not a child at all anymore (my childhood actually died long before I turned eighteen, and that's another story, but I'm a legal adult now, too), but when I'm treated the way I was in those days, though, the child in me and the massive hurt she carries wakes back up. I can't put her through that anymore, and it's impossible to move on or grow up completely when part of you is trapped in adolescence. I'm realizing now that the only way to free myself from adolescence is to leave the people that trapped me there.

And it hurts. It hurts so deeply. It's a loss. It's estrangement. 

I could write for ages on the things I will miss. Unfortunately, I will probably have to use that time in therapy resolving the emotional, developmental, and psychological damage done. 

And that's how I know it's time to cut ties.