My mother had asked me to be the photographer at her wedding, she knew I was skilled with at photography and had owned my own camera since my first paycheck from the Air Force. It was basically the second thing I had ever bought for myself as an adult. I had also used Photoshop for years, so I was skilled at lighting and color correction; my skills at photography where available for anyone to see across my social media accounts; traditional photography mind you. I had even developed several of my own prints in a dark room at this point. My skills where known. On the day of the wedding I was informed that she had hired another photographer to shoot the wedding, and also they where two people with video cameras; this was pretty upsetting. And honestly, no one needs four photographers to shoot a wedding. Also the night before my cousin Ben Mitchell had Katlyn Ward mess up my hair so I had to shave my head, not a very photogenic look. So, I’m not the photographer, and I look like crap; this is exactly what my mother; Teresa Mitchell, my uncle; Paul David Mitchell, and the Magistrate; Russel Casto wanted. They orchestrated the entire wedding to set me up and make me appear as though I was some kind of Anti-Chistian. They slipped me some kind of drug that zoned me out nearly half way through the wedding. When it came time for the vows she sent me up to take “care of the music” I went up and turned it on and waited for the track to play and the entire room full of people just starred and giggled at me, I was zoned out on their drugs they slipped me. At one point she sent me in to help “set up the kitchen”, this is when they put a child in the room alone with me and separated me from the main group. In the other room they said prayer; she had isolated me and excluded me from giving thanks for the meal. In reality, the prayer was a front; it was given in the other room as a cover so they could speak privately away from me; setting some child there in the room as some kind of decoy/distraction. I like kids, I love kids, kids are fantastic and wonderful and their curiosity provides us with extraordinary new perspectives; however, I know the people in that other room have a very different idea about what it means to “like kids”. The people in that other room, are child molesters and are engaged in child trafficking and child exploitation. I know this; because, I am one of their surviving victims.
