Today I was interviewed by the lawyer for the defence.
Today was interesting.
Thankfully I’m on escitalopram. I’d hate to think how today would have turned out if I was my good ol’ self.
Being depressed and suffering from severe anxiety means that today would have been an absolute nightmare if I wasn’t medicated.
Sorry to say, but I can’t discuss anything that was discussed today. Not even supposed to discuss the evidence presented today with my lawyer who was also present during the examination.
Yesterday was interesting.
Yesterday was the first “in office” visit with my nurse practitioner since the start of the pandemic back in March of 2020.
My N.P. is the one who set me up with escitalopram last year when my brain started to seriously crack.
So yesterday was the first time that I had seriously talked to him about medical assistance in dying. We had talked on the phone various times over the last year as he was doing monthly check-ins to see how I was doing and we would discuss M.A.i.D..
However I was in person this time and we had a much better conversation. I explained to him why counselling couldn’t or wouldn’t work for me. No civilian counsellor would understand the mess I went through as kid. And no civilian counsellor or even a military counsellor would be able to sweep the crap out of my brain.
The damage is there, the damage is permanent, and the damage isn’t simply going away.
And no, I don’t want to learn how to live with it. I’ve lived with it long enough.
But I am getting way ahead of myself. I still don’t know what the specific criteria will be. And those criteria won’t be released until March 2023.
So, we’ll have to wait and see.
I’ve also had the opportunity to start shooting pictures in RAW mode with my camera.
I know, large jump from death to cameras, but hey, what the heck.
RAW image converted to PNG.
RAW images are interesting in the sense that they can be truly manipulated. These images in RAW are the actual data unprocessed from the sensor. These images have not been processed or compressed. This RAW image is converted to PNG just for the sake of being able to be uploaded to my blog. The PNG format does have some compression.
If you have a Mac or an image program capable of viewing RAW files, here is the original RAW image.
The truth is that I don’t actually have any interests, any hobbies, or any friends.
I don’t like TV.
There are very few movies that I like.
I don’t like electronics.
I understand electronics. But I don’t like dabbling in electronics.
I bought various electronic kits over the years. For example I used the Raspberry Pi for a bit, I’ve also used the Arduino kits. Setting them up and programming them is easy enough. There’s just nothing inside of me that gives me any joy programming these devices.
I don’t like computers.
I can use computers. Computers are a tool just like any other tool. I can set them up. I can use them for writing reports. I can scan and archive. But I really don’t care for computers.
When my brother came to visit last year he said that he was sure that I liked cars. Nope. I understand how they work. I can work on them. But I don’t like them.
Music. I really had no interest until I was in my 20s. This I think was due to the way Richard belittled me for any interest that I had shown in music at school. Throw into that the fact that Earl Ray Stevens had used my desired to learn how to play drums as a way to sexually abuse me.
Also, as a form of punishment for causing our relocation from CFB Griesbach to CFB Downsview, Richard had thrown out my stereo, my records, and my 8-track tapes as punishment. This was a record collection that Uncle Doug, grandma, and my weekend job at Pizza Plus had allowed me to build. It wasn’t large. Maybe about twenty or thirty albums and 45s. The 8-tracks were mostly Uncle Doug’s. I was 11 when Richard threw out my stereo. The stereo had belonged to grandma, and it was mine when we moved from CFB Namao to CFB Griesbach. Uncle Doug bought grandma a new stereo system for her bedroom.
When we were younger and living on Canadian Forces Base Downsview, my brother always accused me of picking on him and making fun of the groups that he listened to. Even when I went up to Edmonton in 2013 and saw him over the summer he quizzed me to see if I knew the songs he was playing. And then he told me that he was always ashamed to sing along with his bands because I used to “tease him” when we were younger.
Tease him? Nope. I was going to Junior High in the period of ’84 through ’87. Poison, Cinderella, Guns ‘n’ Roses, Twisted Sister, Motley Crue, et. al. were standard fare at school and on the radio. I liked Van Halen, Quiet Riot, Slade, Queensryche, all the way to Supertramp, Bruce Hornsby and the Range, Peter Gabriel. So, it wasn’t that I didn’t like his music, or that I thought his music sucked. What I deeply despised him for was that he could play his music at any volume in his bedroom and neither Richard nor Sue would give a flying fuck. If I turned my music up above barely audible, Richard would fly off the fucking handle. My brother was allowed to have a stereo. I had to scrap together a used stereo out of a van. So yeah, there was some angst created there. I don’t know if Richard intentionally created this rivalry, or if he was just so fucking stupid that he didn’t realize what he was creating. What my brother also seems to forget is that Richard would make non-stop snide comments about the music we listened to. The comments didn’t seem to have much impact on my brother. It was like he was oblvious to Richard’s contempt. For some reason I was super sensitive to Richard’s snide comments and his put downs. C’est la vie I guess.
I think my lack of interest in TV comes down to two things.
The first was having a stunted imagination as a child. After the events on CFB Namao, and after being involved with Captain Terry Totzke, and with my father’s reaction to the events on CFB Namao, any imagination I had as a child was killed. Richard’s demeaning comments and his frequent sarcastic putdowns would kill the imagination in just about everyone he came in contact with. But the weird thing was he loved the original Star Trek, he loved the original Dr. Who, he loved Bug Bunny, and he loved the Batman TV series. I’ll never figure him out. He’s dead and gone. All I can put it down to is his self centred perspective and his superiority complex.
The second was that Sue would insist that we play outside which was fine with me as on Downsview I was mostly heading off to work at my after school jobs. On Griesbach things were a little worse as I only had my weekend job at Pizza Plus so week nights were spent wandering around North Edmonton no matter what the weather was like, and yeah, Edmonton can be quite cold in the winter.
So yeah, I’ve never really formed an attraction to TV.
When I met up with my brother last year, we went for a long walk around the seawall. He wanted to talk about whether or not I was really serious about wanting to undergo medical assistance in dying. I assured him that I was very serious about this and I explained to him why as well as my justifications for wanting to die.
I don’t know if he honestly believes that I was a psychiatrically fucked up as I was, or if Richard’s frequent assertions that I was just “acting up to get attention” have made it impossible for him to understand.
As we walked around the seawall we talked about other things, such as my skills with fixing cars. We ended up on the topic of electronics. He wanted to know why I wasn’t more involved with electronics. I told him that I was never very good at electronics to begin with, and that as I had no diploma in electronics any skills that I had were nothing more than a “hobby”. He replied that I had built so many things as a kid that he was sure that I liked electronics.
I told him that the one time it became very crystal clear to me that electronics was never to be in the cards for me was when I was in grade 8 and I had put together a helium-neon laser for science fair. I had salvaged the parts out of a couple of old Pioneer Video Laserdisc players. Mr. Bowles, my grade 8 science teacher was very impressed with the project and my writeup of how ionizing gas laser tubes worked. My father was pissed off because Mr. Bowles called my father at work to try to convince him that I should enter my project at the National Science Fair in Ottawa. My brother replied to me that I didn’t really build that laser, I just took it from a laserdisc player.
****insert abrupt vinyl record scratch noise here***
Narrator: It was at this point that Bobbie realized that maybe he was wrong, that maybe there was an afterlife, and that his dysfunctional father had risen from the grave and had gained control of his brother’s vocal cords in order to issue insults from beyond the grave.
Yeah, that was Richard’s thing back then. That I was just too fucking stupid to make anything on my own. That I was too fucking dumb to do anything with my life. That I was a liar. That I was fucking insane like my mother. That I had fucked with his military career.
And sure, it’s true the parts came from two non-functional video laserdisc players. But it took me picking the parts out of two players to make one functional 5mw helium-neon laser. These lasers, because of how much energy they emitted were under very strict control of the laserdisc player CPU. This meant that the laser power supply had to be modified to allow the laser to start and run without the CPU controlling it.
I had also built from scratch the twin 20watt push-pull power amplifiers that would drive the radial and tangential correction mirrors that I had repurposed into scanning mirrors. I could feed audio into the amplifiers and have the laser make patterns on the wall. I could feed the output of a frequency generator into the amplifier and make shapes on the wall. I could even feed the analog X-Y signals from an old Vectrex video game into the amplifier and play vector scan graphic video games on the wall. Was quiet messy though as I couldn’t figure out how to blank the beam.
It was basically Richard belittling and ridicule of my electronics skills that made me turn my back on electronics.
The final knife in my back came a few years later when I was servicing arcade games, pinball machines, and jukeboxes. I would have been around 16. The company that I worked for, Rainbow Games, had a Championship Sprint game in the shop that their technician couldn’t fix. This technician had a diploma from DeVry and a diploma from ITT Tech. He had been working on the game for weeks and couldn’t solve the problem. They were about to give up on this machine and scrap it for parts. I went through the schematics, went through the error codes list, and found that the problem was caused by a faulty 8-bit bi-directional latch on the data bus between the mother board and the graphics processor board. It took me two days to do what this DeVry / ITT tech trained technician couldn’t do. Hey Bruce, hey Ed, can I get a pay raise seeing as how I’m fixing more equipment than Len. Nope, sorry Rob, but you’re not a certified technician, it wouldn’t be right for us to pay you more without a diploma.
So, that drove the final nail into the coffin of my interest in electronics.
Computers honestly were never a thing for me.
So…… what are my interests?
Nothing.
Really.
I have no interests or desires.
I think that the depression that I inherited from Richard also explains why Richard was the way he was. He really didn’t have any interests either. What he had though was a gun pointed at his head. He had to learn avionics / aeroframe mechanics / electronics / computers if he wanted to be able to stay in the Canadian Forces. When Richard joined the Royal Canadian Navy in 1963 at the age of 17 with a grade 8 education and a remark from the enrolment officer stating that Richard was developing into a bit of a “rebel” in school, the Navy was more than happy to accept people like Richard. As the years went by though, the requirements to enlist went up and the expectations placed on the currently enlisted went up as well.
Richard’s education level is debatable. When I examined him for federal court in 2013, he claimed that he had grade nine. His enrolment records into the military also say grade nine. However, when I met Marie in 2013 I asked her how Richard and she met. She said that her brother, my uncle Al, and Richard had both attended the same grade 9 remedial program in Nova Scotia before they were allowed to join. Either Richard’s grade nine marks were too low to meet the requirements, or he only completed some of his grade nine.
By the time I tried to enlist when I was 18 grade 10 was the absolute minimum and there weren’t many trades in the military open with that minimal qualification. Grade 12 was preferred. And university or college was desired.
I don’t think that my father really had an interest in electronics or computers as his depression wouldn’t allow for it. My father did have the ability to learn electronics and computers, but that was mainly so that he could save his career in the military. In the ’70s and the ’80s there really wasn’t much need for a unilingual anglophone with a grade nine education.
I know first hand just how crushing depression can be, especially major depression.
Where did Richard’s sarcasm, his pettiness, and his desire to mock and ridicule come from? That I will never know. With my depression I’ve never felt the desire to ridicule or mock anyone. I just want to be left alone when I hit one of my crushing depressions. I know that grandma could be cruel. But I don’t remember her as ever being the type to mock or into ridicule. She was a very authoritarian type person who loved to discipline. I don’t know when exactly Arthur Herman Gill left grandma. I remember that Richard and his father were not close at all. Is that where Richard picked up his need to ridicule and mock? I don’t know when exactly Roy William Anderson and grandma hooked up. I honestly don’t remember much of Andy as he was only with us a short time before he slipped in the bathtub and suffered severe brain damage. Was Andy married to my grandmother when Richard was young? Did Andy mock and ridicule Richard?
Not my concern where Richard got his issues from.
What is my concern is that Richard, his defective parenting skills, his depression, his sarcasm, his need to feel superior, his need to ridicule, and his need to mock left a trail of destruction in his path.
And that is why I mainly feel completely void and empty and for the most part worthless.
And please, I’m not trying to be rude, but don’t try to cheer me up. Compliments are the hardest thing for me to accept. You could say that I have major trust issues. And when I was young, compliments were a way that people got their hands into my pants, or got me to do things for them.
So, as truthful as you may be with your compliments, my trust issues are burnt so deeply into my brain that I will never be able to accept a compliment without assuming that you’re buttering me up for something.
Bobbie, why don’t you try to be happy? Bobbie, just don’t think about the past.
I’ve tried lots of things in my life to get over the past.
Pinpointing what has gone wrong in my life isn’t really all that simple. I wish that it was. Maybe that one thing that went wrong, I could get therapy for and then everything would be fine.
But it’s not just one little thing here, or one little thing there.
It’s an avalanche of things.
And it wouldn’t be so bad if these were things of my creation.
But they weren’t.
These were things that were gifted to me even though no one in their right mind would want these gifts.
Captain Father Angus McRae created a monster with P.S., and I have absolutely no doubt that it would have been Captain Father Angus McRae, in his role as base padre, that was recommending his very special altar boy to help out with families in need. Families like mine.
According to the court mail transcripts and the CFSIU investigation paperwork, the Canadian Armed Forces knew full well what had happened on that base from 1978 to 1980. And yet instead of helping out the abused children, the Canadian Forces circled the wagons.
The Canadian Armed Forces needed to get rid of Captain McRae with the least amount of publicity possible.
There is no way that the Canadian Forces were going to allow the Canadian public to discover that an officer of the Canadian Armed Forces had preyed upon and abused the children of junior rank personnel. And there was no way that the Canadian Forces were going to allow the Canadian public to know that Captain McRae had molested children on previous bases that he had been stationed at.
In 2020 when the MPCC released its final report of the 2nd portion of CFNIS GO 2011-5754, the MPCC stated that they couldn’t see how I could accuse the Canadian Forces of trying to hide what Captain McRae had done. Well, the simple fact is that there were over 25 children abused by Captain McRae no doubt with assistance from his altar boy P.S.. The military police and the CFSIU were well aware that Captain McRae was abusing more children that just P.S.. The court martial panel was well aware. But all Captain McRae was charged with was for abusing P.S.. The court martial was moved “in-camera” to protect “public morals”.
Now, it’s not like my father didn’t know. He knew. I became his scapegoat for anything that went wrong with my brother. I think that’s the reason I despised my brother so much when we were kids. Richard couldn’t and wouldn’t take responsibility for his family. So instead of raising my brother the way any decent father would have, he made me responsible for my brother.
Me, a kid who had already been found to be suffering from major depression and severe anxiety. Me, a kid who was terrified of being touched. Me, a kid who was so emotionally disturbed at the time that by the time Alberta Social Services became involved was supposed to be sent to a psychiatric hospital for emotionally disturbed children.
“Sent away” would have been to the “Alberta Hospital”Yep, I looked after my brother, had to, Richard sure as fucking wasn’t.
Explains why my brother and I had such an intense sibling rivalry that we had to constantly be sent to separate schools.
This would be an understatement
Captain Terry Totzke knew. But instead of helping me with the trauma I had been through, and helping me with my depression and my anxiety, he decided that what I really needed was to work on not being a homosexual.
It really didn’t help that the Canadian Forces considered what Captain McRae had done with children between 5 to 15 as being “Acts of Homosexuality”. We all got tarred by that brush.
So not only was I not a victim that endured 1-1/2 years of childhood sexual abuse and a neglectful home life with a frequently absent father and an alcoholic grandmother. Instead I was a homosexual that enjoyed the abuse so much that I allowed, nay, encouraged P.S. to molest my brother.
In the aftermath of CFB Namao I tried suicide so many times, but I could never pull it off. You can’t go through what I did on CFB Namao and not want to kill yourself. My father was blaming me for what happened. Captain Terry Totzke was blaming me for what happened. The kids from CFB Namao and CFB Griesbach were tormenting me with what happened.
When you have severe depression and severe anxiety, you tend to cry and break down. Crying or just being sad was a trigger for Richard. So at home I would get all of the negative reinforcement that a child with major depression and severe anxiety should never have been exposed to. It was like a horrific negative feedback loop. The more I’d cry, the more backhands or belts I’d get, which would in turn result in more crying, which would result in more hits.
Wash….rinse…..repeat.
At the time, I had no idea of what the fuck was wrong with me. Why I was such a fuck up. Why I was such a loser. Why I couldn’t do anything right. Why I had no friends.
You honestly have no idea how badly I wanted to die. Or how many times I’d cry myself to sleep.
I used to suffer from frequent episodes of “derealization”. This is where, and it’s still hard for me to explain, but it was like I wasn’t myself, but I was watching myself like I was a movie or TV character, like I was seeing through the character’s eyes. And this shit used to creep me out. It turns out that “derealiztion” happens with sexual abuse, physical abuse, and neglect. All of which I had in spades.
There was a reason why my father told the Children’s Aid Society of Toronto that the involvement of Alberta Social Services was unwarranted.
And there’s a reason why my father kept telling Alberta Social Service that there wasn’t anything wrong with me.
Richard Gill knew what the problem was.
I had caused the problem by being a homosexual and by allowing P.S. to molest my younger brother.
That’s why neither Captain Totzke or my father followed through with any type of help for me from October of 1980 until November of 1981. And that is also why Captain Totzke and my father were at war with Alberta Social Services after my school teacher and school principal called Alberta Social Services in due to Totzke’s lack of action. I didn’t need help. I just needed to stop being a homosexual.
This telephone call was two days after Albert Social Services informed Captain Totzke that if my father didn’t start participating in family counselling that I was going to be removed from the home and placed into foster care or residential care.
So, it wasn’t just that I had been abused sexually, physically, and mentally by P.S. and Captain McRae for 1-1/2 years on CFB Namao. I also spent 2-1/2 years being psychologically abused by Captain Terry Totzke and my father Master Corporal Richard Wayne Gill on CFB Griesbach. On Canadian Forces Base Downsview things never got any better between my father and I. In fact they spiralled down the shitter at an even faster rate.
And then there was Earl Ray Stevens. The commissionaire at the Denison Armouries who took the one thing that I really loved away from me. That was cadets. It was the only thing I cared about. But Earl could sense, like most pedophiles can sense, an abused child from a dysfunctional home. Even worse, Earl knew right from the start that my father was in the Canadian Forces and that I’d do anything to keep “our secret” a secret so that the military police and my father wouldn’t find out. Being that Earl was in the Canadian Corp of Commissionaires it’s a pretty good chance that Earl was in the Canadian Armed Forces prior to retiring and joining the Commissionaires. So I have no doubt that Earl would have had abused kids living on base, and Earl knew that abused military dependents keep their mouths shut, especially if they’re males.
So it’s not that I’m a loser, or a quitter.
I’m tired.
I’m burnt out.
And I’d like to go.
There is absolutely nothing holding me here.
And this isn’t a rash decision.
This is something that I’ve been pondering since the early 2000s when I first heard of people in Europe requesting medical suicide not for terminal medical conditions, but for depression.
Up until Canada passed its law, I had always wondered if I could save up enough money for a one way trip and go to sleep in a nice touristy town in Europe.
Now I don’t have to.
I can receive medical assistance in dying right here.
I wish there was a way to fix my brain, but there isn’t.
I don’t want electroconvulsive therapy, I don’t want mind altering drugs.
It’s not a matter of being unwilling, it that I’m not someone’s “fix-it” project.
Captain Terry Totzke and my father both taught me that “head shrinkers” are useless and cause nothing but trouble.
My father taught me the fine art of telling people what they want to hear.
And this shit is burnt so deep into my brain that it’s not going to be fixed.
And no, I don’t want to learn how to “cope”. I’ve had a lifetime of coping. Coping doesn’t do anything except ensure that you don’t upset others with your personal traumas.
I don’t believe in the afterlife. I don’t believe in heaven or hell.
There will be no punishment.
There will be no regret.
What there will be is the cessation of existence.
You can only suffer and carry regret and be in pain when you exist.
Less than a year now before I start the process of applying for Medical Assistance in Dying.
It’s a weird kinda of sereneness.
Now that I know approximately when the end of my life will be, and that I won’t have to endure being tormented into my senior years with the flashbacks and memories from Canadian Forces Base Namao, I feel relaxed and calm.
And unlike suicide, being that M.A.i.D. is a medical procedure carried out with clinical precision, I don’t have any fears of botching the job and not doing it correctly or even ending up a vegetable for the remaining 30 years of my life.
All of the mental suffering and anguish that I have endured for the last 40 plus years will finally be over.
Captain Terry Totzke will no longer reside in my brain, nor will Captain Father Angus McRae, Peter S., my father Warrant Officer Richard Wayne Gill, or Earl Ray Stevens. Every member of the Canadian Armed Forces that hurt me will be gone from my brain, forever.
My time spent being torn asunder between Alberta Social Services and Captain Terry Totzke will come to an end.
It’s not that Alberta Social Services did anything wrong, Captain Terry Totzke just made sure that I didn’t tell anyone in the civilian world what had occurred on Canadian Forces Base Namao. He tried to portray himself as my friend, the guy who was trying to help me. He, and my father, both portrayed my civilian social workers as being the enemy. People that weren’t to be trusted. People that were trying to hurt me. There was no way that Captain Totzke or his chain of command were going to allow me to tell my civilian social workers about what had transpired on Canadian Forces Base Namao from October 1978 until May of 1980. Especially not with Captain Father Angus McRae having admitted during his Ecclesiastical trial in June of 1980 that he had been molesting children for years. McRae molested 25 children on CFB Namao. How many did he molest on CFS Holberg, or CFB Portage La Prairie, or even CFB Kingston. 50 kids total? 100 kids total?
The Canadian Forces and the Canadian Forces Special Investigations Unit were well aware at the time that McRae was bringing children over to the chapel and giving them beer and wine before escorting them into the bedroom of the rectory to “fool around”. How many kids like me were there that have vague memories of being escorted to the chapel by our babysitter, playing games and watching TV, and then being given a “sickly sweet grape juice” and not remembering anything after that?
Children’s Aid Society of Toronto records. The blacked out info is my father’s name Richard and Rick.
Reading my foster care record from November of 1981 until April of 1983 shows that my father was outright hostile towards Alberta Social Services. No doubt this was encouraged by Captain Terry Totzke.
This is my grandmother that Richard “forgot” to tell the CFNIS about in 2011. I still don’t know if Richard didn’t tell the CFNIS of her by his own decision or if the CFNIS suggested that it would be best if he didn’t mention her as her presence in the PMQ would complicate things for the CFNIS in 2011.Grandma had issues from her time in Indian Residential School when she was a child. This no doubt contributed to her hostile personality.Alberta Social Services Observation of my father Richard Wayne Gill.
So, why wasn’t my father too eager to work with Alberta Social Services considering how emotionally disturbed I was?
Captain Terry Totzke would have already explained to my father, Master Corporal Richard Wayne Gill, that I had obviously been having sex with Peter because I was a homosexual and that I had allowed this to go on for over a year because I was a homosexual.
Section 70 of the 1970 National Defence Act. Sure, my father could have done the right thing, but that would have taken a backbone.
Captain outranks Master Corporal. And the National Defence Act and its section on “Insubordination” would have meant that my father would have paid attention to the words of a captain.
This is why my bedroom door had been taken off both on CFB Griesbach and on CFB Downsview. This is why I wasn’t allowed to participate in sports. Even though it was my father that said that he wasn’t going to allow me to go swimming with my class at the Kinsmen Sports Centre “because there’d be other naked boys in the change room and that I wouldn’t be able to control myself”, I have absolutely no doubt that it was Captain Totzke that told my father to keep me away from other boys. After all it was Captain Totzke, or Terry as I knew him, that had warned me early on that he had the base military police watching me and that if I ever tried to kiss or touch another boy that I’d be sent off to the Alberta Hospital for treatment.
And homosexuality was a major no-no in the Canadian Forces back in the 50s through to the ’90s. The official military policy was that homosexuality was a mental illness. CFAO 19-20 was the official CF policy toward homosexuality.
Yes, CFAO 19-20 would have only applied to persons subject to the Code of Service Discipline. But once you’ve been trained the in military way and trained to enforce military policies you can’t just turn that training on and off at will.
So yes, it will be so nice to finally be free of Captain Totzke and my father.
You have absolutely no idea of what it’s like to navigate through life not knowing why you don’t like sex with women, but you also don’t like sex with men. Everyone assumes I’m gay because I don’t have sex with women. The problem is that I’m not into guys either. I actually find sex and the concept of sex to be disgusting.
I wear dresses, not because I consider myself to be a woman. I wear dresses because they’re comfortable and I believe that pants are stupid considering male anatomy. I also wear dresses I believe because I had been told all of my life that I wasn’t allowed to play on the men’s team because of what I had done on CFB Namao with P.S. and Captain McRae.
When you’re told that your not good enough to play by the rules, you play by your own rules.
To further complicate things, I had been diagnosed as having major depression and severe anxiety. And no doubt I was suffering from what would now be termed “Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder “.
After CFB Namao and CFB Griesbach I learned to live in solitude.
I legally changed my name in 2008 thinking that I could get a fresh start and leave CFB Namao behind.
I honestly do love my chosen name, but it didn’t erase my past as I had hoped.
I’m still Robert Wayne Gill, the 8 year old who was caught getting fucked in the ass by his almost 15 year old babysitter on Canadian Forces Base Namao in May of 1980. I’m still Robert Wayne Gill, the 7 and 8 year old boy that allowed the 14 year old babysitter to molest his younger brother. I’m still Robert Wayne Gill, the 9 to 11 year old boy who received “conversion therapy” at the hands of Canadian Armed Forces officer Captain Terry Totzke. And I’ll be that Robert Wayne Gill until the day I draw my last breath.
Knowing the truth about CFB Namao and the direct connection between my babysitter and Captain McRae doesn’t erase the past. I just made me understand that I have very little control over my life and that other people made some very fucking horrific decisions about my life even before I had a chance to begin living my life.
I’ve had to work so fucking hard in my life just to get to where I am. And I am still so fucking vulnerable it’s not funny. One simple little fucking mistake in life and I fall and I fall hard. There is no safety net for me. There is no inheritance for me to rebound off of. There is absolutely no family for me to be able to depend on.
So I took the path in life that was very carefully navigated.
Every day of my life up to this point I have wondered where I life I could have gone had I been encouraged to finish school, an go on to college or university. Even trade school. Almost every successful tradesman started out on an apprenticeship when they were young and living at home and they didn’t have to worry about paying for the course, or the books, or anything else.
CMAC says that the majority of first time home buyers get help from the Bank of Mom and Dad. So I missed out on that.
It drives me up the wall the number of times that coworkers, or managers, or even outside trades, contractors , and suppliers say to me “Bobbie, you’re wasting your time/talents here, you’ve got the smarts you should be over there doing that and making a fortune”. Fine, sure, you gonna let me move in to your house so that you can pay my bills and feed me while I take the 4 or 5 year full-time program to get the degrees required to pursue that line of work? Didn’t think so.
And after having been what I’ve been though in life, and with my depression and anxiety, I’m not exactly a pleasant person to be around. No, I’m not offensive or unpleasant. But I have no hobbies, and I have no interests. I don’t care about sportsball teams. I don’t care about TV shows. I don’t gossip. I like music, but I keep my interests to myself. I’m an odd fucker that just doesn’t fit in. I have no interest in hearing about your family. I don’t care about your kids. I was never taught the art of small talk. This makes a person very fucking vulnerable.
As I’ve said in other blog entries, I picked up electronics, automotive, and computer skills as a kid in the hopes that it would create some sort of connection between my father and I. But that connection was so damaged that nothing was ever going to fix it.
I haven’t wrenched on a car since I stopped driving back in 1998.
When it comes to electronics or computers at work, I pretend to be abso-fucking-lutely stupid.
Up until recently I had about $1k worth of soldering equipment at home for electronic projects that I always wanted to start on, but never did. There is no passion or drive inside anymore. Any interest that I had in electronics died back in the mid ’90s when I realized that no matter how good I was at troubleshooting and repairing electronics I was never going to be an electronics technician. “We can’t pay you a technicians wage, you’re not certified”. “We can’t hire you for the technician’s position as you don’t have a diploma”. “Sure, you’ve got electronic skills and you beat a licenced technician in a test, but you’re not qualified without a diploma”. Basically what I was hearing all of my life was “You let the babysitter abuse your younger brother, we can’t hire you, it’s your fault”
I had a friend that used to get me to work on motorcycles for him. I told him that I despised doing mechanical or electrical work on motorcycles. But he kept on pushing me as he was certain that I’d get to like repairing motorcycles as I had a natural talent for fixing mechanical and electrical problems. This friendship died about 10 years ago. Yes, I have an unnerving ability to troubleshoot electrical, electronic, and mechanical problems, but it doesn’t mean that this is what I would have liked for a career.
So many possibilities were on my horizon, but the way in which the Canadian Armed Forces reacted to Captain Father Angus McRae stripped away from me any of the possibilities that could have been mine. And that’s the knowledge that I am going to live with until I draw my final breath.
So, I’m where I am, not because I want to be, nor because I deserve to be here. I’m where I am because it pays the bills and keeps me fed.
I have never sought help with my depression or my anxiety primarily because I had no idea that I had depression, or anxiety, or cptsd. I was told that I was acting the way I was and behaving the way I was because I was a homosexual that allowed my younger brother to be molested.
Battling the CFNIS and the Canadian Forces since 2011 sure hasn’t helped matters much.
And to be told recently that my former babysitter P.S., and the man in the sauna both have more legal rights than I do is just one of the many nails the CFNIS have driven into my coffin since 2011.
These are the reasons that I am looking forward to M.A.i.D.
Yes, M.A.i.D. will result in my death, but that’s the price I am more than willing to pay to erase the memories of: My father and his drinking and his anger issues; The fact my mother ran off and left me with my father; Being raised by my grandmother, who had her own issues; Peter S.; The memories of watching Peter S. abuse the other children, including my brother; The 5 visits to the chapel on CFB Namao; The sickly sweet grape juice; The fact that my father sent me on one of these visits with Peter; My involvement with Captain Terry Totzke; Being called a homosexual by both Captain Totzke and my father for what I had “allowed” to happen on CFB Namao; My confusing involvement with Alberta Social Services; Being blamed by my father for “fucking with his military career” and for being the cause of our April ’83 posting to Canadian Forces Base Downsview that “ruined his fucking career”; My involvement with Earl Ray Stevens, a former member of the Canadian Forces and a then current member of the Canadian Corps of Commissionaires;
I’m tired, I’m burnt the fuck out, my brain is fried, and it’s time for me to go.
Sure, I could live until I’m 70 or maybe even 80. But the fuck for?
So that I can remember that Minister Sajjan accused me of trying to scam the Canadian Forces for a quick buck?
So that I can remember MWO Eisenmenger calling me a liar in July of 2011 and accused me of making up the story about Peter S.?
So that I can constantly remember how horrific of a fucking liar my father was?
So that I can remember all of those nights as a kid when I’d cry myself to sleep wishing that I’d be dead in the morning? And the times I tried to make sure that I was dead in the morning.
So that I can remember all of the times Peter would get me to bathe with him so he could stick his fingers in my ass to get me ready for his penis?
So that I can remember all of the times that Peter would hit me, slap me, and kick me if I didn’t perform oral sex on him they way he liked it?
Nope.
Departure time is coming.
I’ve got my ticket.
And nobody is going to stop me from turning my brain off and leaving this shit of a life behind.
In 1980 in the period of time between May of 1980 and June 23rd, 1980, my babysitter, P.S., had intercepted me in the change room at the base swimming pool. He escorted me to the sauna where there was an older man waiting for me to perform oral sex on him.
This obviously wasn’t a random chance. This had been planned out. Especially with the man asking P.S. if I was as good as P.S. said that I was.
When I went to the CFNIS in 2011 with my complaint against P.S. I was envisioning cleaning up a bunch of things from my past:
P.S. and the abuse from CFB Namao;
Terry, the man who called me a homosexual;
The man from the sauna;
Earl Ray Stevens from the Dennison Armouries;
And Alan M. from North York.
Of course, as we know now, the Minister of National Defence, the Vice Chief of Defence Staff, the Provost Marshal, and the CFNIS had ample reasons to deep six the investigation into P.S. as it threatened to resurrect the whole sordid Captain Father Angus McRae fiasco along with exposing the 3-year-time-bar and the summary investigation flaw.
So that delayed my complaint against the man from the sauna.
The delay might have worked in my favour as when I was given a copy of the CFSIU investigation paperwork it gave me the very likely name of the man from the sauna. This man had in fact had his own involvement with underaged children.
But at the same time the CFNIS and the military justice system were coming under attack for their failure to actually solve sexual assault crimes.
In November of 2021 Minister of National Defence Anita Anand announced that she was instructing the CFNIS and the Provost Marshal to hand over all sexual assault investigations to the civilian authorities.
But, can you guess who’s case is NOT going to the civilian police?
Yep, that’s right, the CFNIS are keeping my case.
Apparently the Civilian Police aren’t as qualified to investigate child sexual assaults like the Canadian Forces National Investigation Service is.
So, if you’re wondering why I have absolutely no desire to live, this is it.
The CFNIS aren’t holding on to my investigation because they’re qualified to look after child sexual abuse matters.
The CFNIS are holding on to my matter because the 3-year-time-bar would make it legally impossible to ever charge the person I accused. This person was a major in the Canadian Forces and was a member of the regular force. They were subject to the code of service discipline 24/7/365 on duty or off duty.
The 3-year-time-bar applied to all service offences. Service offences included all criminal code offences including offences such as gross indecency, and indecent assault.
The civilian police would have encountered this the moment they went to the provincial Crown to lay charges. The civilian police would not have kept quiet about this.
The CFNIS on the other hand know exactly how to deal with this issue. They’ll submit such a laughably weak case to the Crown knowing full well that the Crown will decline to prosecute.
The CFNIS can also delay the case to the point in time that the person I accuse simply dies of old age. “Golly geez Mr. Bees, if only you had come to us sooner we could have charged him, but he’s dead now, oh well”.
And if the person I accused hasn’t kicked the bucket, the CFNIS can go harass P.S. and frighten him with the possibility of prosecution for his participation in providing me to the man that I accused. This will absolutely shut P.S. up guaranteeing that we’ll never know who the man in the sauna was.
And this my friend is why I want to die.
To know that I will never receive any form of justice is a bitter pill to swallow.
To not receive any acknowledgment for the hell I lived through is maddening.
To have the guilty portrayed as innocent, and to have the innocent judged as being not worthy of even a simple apology, tells me just exactly how valuable human life is.
You don’t understand how anxious I am for the Criminal Code of Canada to be further amended in March of 2023 to allow for Medical Assistance in Dying for Psychiatric issues.
Midazolam, Propofol, Rocuronium, and Bupivacain injected through a catheter will erase these memories and will release me from my past and from my suffering.
If I can’t get justice, if I can’t even just get simple acknowledgment for the hell I went through, give me mercy and just let me go into peace where these memories and the Canadian Armed Forces can no longer haunt me.
Beeshive 