Some truths about M.A.i.D.

“Has he been on pharmaceuticals all his life to control his emotions”?
-NO-
“Sorry then, he’s far too happy to qualify to die”

Please don’t fuck this up for me.

Recently in the media there has been a story circulating around how a woman requested Medical Assistance in Dying because she couldn’t find a place to live.

I’ll say this once and once only, YOU CANNOT REQUEST M.A.i.D. because you are homeless. If all it took was being homeless to request M.A.i.D. it would be simple for me in the Vancouver area housing market. All I’d have to do is move out of my apartment without having a place to move to, then I too could apply for M.A.i.D. instead of having to wait until March of 2023. But it doesn’t work that way.

Currently to obtain M.A.i.D. you currently have to have a terminal disease that will result in your natural death in the foreseeable future, or you need to have a condition that affects and impairs your quality of life.

You cannot request M.A.i.D. if you have genetic cognitive developmental issues, or other types of cognitive impairments that would prevent informed consent.

You and only you can request M.A.i.D.. You cannot take your 98 year old granny into the vet and have them put down like a house cat. You cannot have your child with Down Syndrome put down. You cannot have your wife with Tourette’s syndrome put down.

You, AND ONLY YOU, can make the request for M.A.i.D.. No one else can.

As the law is now, you cannot even make a request for M.A.i.D. for use in the future if you should become cognitively impaired at a later date.

Even when the rules are changed in March of 2023 to allow M.A.i.D. for mental illness, the person requesting M.A.i.D. will have to be able to comprehend what it is that they are requesting. You will not be able to simply show up at your doctor and say that you want M.A.i.D. because you’re feeling a little sad at the moment. You need the approval of two separate physicians and then there is a mandatory 90 day cooling off period. And then even with the approvals and the passing of the 90 day cooling off period, you still have to find a physician will to carry out the procedure. This is nothing like taking your elderly cat into the vet and having them put down because you’ve grown tired of the cat.

I’m fucking dreading the process for requesting M.A.i.D. as I’m worried that the bar is going to be too fucking high for me to pass.

“Is he a cutter”?

-no-

“has he ended up in hospital due to previous suicide attempts”?

-no-

“Has he been going to non-stop therapy since 1980”?

-no-

“Has he been on pharmaceuticals all his life to control his emotions”?

-no-

“Sorry then, he’s far too happy to qualify to die”.

There appears to be a whole fucking cottage industry of these people who throw around terms like “ableism” and “eugenics” and who seem to indicate that if you’re not willing to commit suicide then you really don’t deserve an “easy way out”.

One account that I came across claims that an assisted living home in Northern Ontario is handing out M.A.i.D. request forms to all of the residents. THIS IS NOT HOW M.A.i.D. works for fucks sake.

I heard from a friend, who heard it from a friend, who heard if from a friend……
blah, fucking blah, fucking blah.
The “Anti- M.A.i.D.” crowd sounds like a Faberge commercial from the ’80s
Some random Assisted Living home that doesn’t have a name is just up and killing its patient population.

I would like to think that the media in Canada was better than this, but here we have https://twitter.com/CTVW5 and https://twitter.com/Avis_Favaro running a series entitled “CTVW5 DEATH WISH”……. yeah, that sure sounds like it’s going to be fair and balanced reporting, doesn’t it?

https://beta.ctvnews.ca/national/health/2022/4/26/1_5877288.amp.html

Won’t go too far into the story, but it seems that a mentally competent woman requested M.A.i.D., and was granted M.A.i.D.. I still can’t fathom what the story is here. Yes, she had to shop around to find sympathetic doctors, but as someone who has encountered doctors who thought that I was telling lies and exaggerations about my childhood abuse and trauma, I can see the need to shop around. Some doctors will let their personal biases and opinions become part of their diagnoses. I can see some doctors outright refusing to prescribe the procedure for religious or spiritual reasons. And those are two reasons that should never be allowed to be considered in any medical decision.

And the whole “Anti-MAiD” crowd doesn’t get any better from there.

If they’re not screaming about “eugenics” or “ableism” then they’re running on and on about how the government has concluded that it’s easier to kill the disabled than it is to feed, or house them.

I don’t follow the religious “anti-MAiD” crowd as I don’t really care what their imaginary friend has to say. If their imaginary friend tells them that MAiD is bad, then they’re welcome to not undergo MAiD.

What concerns me about the “Anti-MAiD” crowd is that they’ve seem to have attracted various psychologists and psychiatrists into their fold.

And what concerns me even more about these psychologists and psychiatrists is that some of them actually believe in the invisible sky daddy or other deities from ancient folklore and they take the “teachings” of these imaginary friends into consideration.

And this would be okay, but these good doctors should really know fantasy from reality.

I have yet to meet a psychologist or a psychiatrist who actually gave a sweet fuck about the war going on in my brain. If they can’t medicate a problem away, and if they can’t convince the patient that the patient is responsible for their own pain and suffering, then they don’t want anything to do with that patient and they’ll simply bump the patient off to someone else.

Outside of pharmaceuticals to numb and blunt emotions, there really isn’t anything that modern psychiatry can do to “fix the brain”. And Psychiatrists and psychologists will do anything possible to hide that fact. Other parts of the body can be fixed or replaced. But the brain is very unique in the sense that unless it learns emotions properly while it is growing in the most plastic stages of its development, it will never learn those emotions properly later in life.

I suffer from Major Depression, Severe Anxiety, lack of confidence, lack of interests, the inability to form relationships, and a multitude of other issues brought on by family genetics, living conditions as a child, sexual abuse as a child, the complete mishandling of that sexual abuse by the Canadian Armed Forces when I was a child, and a life time of shouldering the blame for what happened on Canadian Forces Base Namao.

This isn’t stuff that is going to go away if I simply wish it away.

This isn’t stuff that I can simply work on for the next 20 or 30 years of my life.

And I think that’s where psychiatrists and psychologists who are involved with the “anti-MAiD” movement have secret agendas. They don’t want to admit to the public that people like me are retirement funds, or monthly payments on the brand new Lexus.

If I undergo MAiD, then there are no more $300.00 sessions.

If I undergo MAiD, then there are no pharmaceuticals to push.

If I undergo MAiD, then there are no prestigious write-ups in the psychology magazines.

I’ll be very blunt and honest. If you want to keep people like me from requesting MAiD for childhood traumas and neglect, then as a society you better be willing to ensure that people like me don’t endure childhood traumas and neglect.

Zong

The “Gill boys” are an interesting genetic mixture.

One of the things that I didn’t really pay too close attention to in my Uncle Al’s obituary was the names of his parents.

Uncle Al
Uncle Al Dagenais and Marie Dagenais
Al and Marie Dagenais

Uncle Al’s mother’s name was Alma Zong. Alma Zong would have been my mother’s mother. So, Alma Zong is my maternal grandmother.

Zong is an interesting surname as it is purely a Chinese name.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zong_(surname)

That means that Alma Zong was either full Chinese or part Chinese.

My paternal grandmother was full Swampy Cree

My maternal grandmother was Chinese.

My paternal grandfather was Irish.

My maternal grandfather was Quebecois.

What an interesting mix.

Tunnel Vision

Once tunnel vision sets in all hope is lost.

Back in 2019 Netflix ran an eight part miniseries titled “Unbelievable”. It was based upon the true life story of Marie Adler.

Marie had been in foster care for most of her life. She had just turned eighteen and had been set up in her first apartment. Shortly thereafter a man broke in, tied her up, raped her, and took pictures.

Marie made a police report. The police came and investigated. Over the course of the investigation one of the two primary detectives started to latch on to some trivial inconsistencies in Marie’s story. After a little bit of badgering the detectives managed to get Marie to admit that she had made up the whole thing, that there never was a rape.

Even one of her previous foster parents had confided to the police that Marie had more than likely lied about being raped.

To teach Marie a lesson, the Lynwood Police Department pressed for charges to be brought against Marie. She ended up on probation and she had to pay a fine.

A couple of years later in a different state the FBI and a local police department executed a raid on the house of a man who was suspected of numerous rapes across multiple states.

You wanna know what they found in this man’s house?
A camera.

You wanna know what was on this camera? Pictures of Marie being raped exactly as she had described it.

The man is Marc O’leary.

Marc O’Leary was later sentenced to 327 years in prison.

https://www.propublica.org/article/false-rape-accusations-an-unbelievable-story

I urge you to read this story if you want to understand how of the fucking rails the justice train can become if cops or the superiors make leaps of judgement.

The two Lynwood detectives never apologized. The city of Lynwood settled with Marie for something around $150k USD. She didn’t want more money. She just wanted an apology.

It was later found upon review that the detectives became far too concentrated on issues that had no relevance to the rape of Marie Adler.

And I’ve always wondered if that is what happened in my case.

I made my complaint to the Edmonton Police Service on March 5th, 2011. I was contacted by the Canadian Forces National Investigation Service on March 7th, 2011. I was interviewed by master corporal Robert Jon Hancock on March 31st, 2011. Master corporal Hancock asked me some question that upon review indicate that the CFNIS in March of 2011 knew about the connection between P.S. and Captain McRae.

Knowledge of this connection was further cemented on May 3rd, 2011 when CFNIS investigator master corporal Christian Cyr asked me if I knew anything about the base priest having been arrested for molesting children during the same time frame that I was accusing P.S. of molesting me and my brother.

There was an error that master corporal Christian Cyr mentioned to me that only could have come from the military police investigation paperwork from 1980. During this phone call Master corporal Cyr tried to tell me that P.S. was only 12 or 13 in 1980. P.S. was born on June 20th, 1965. P.S. would have been just weeks shy of his 15th birthday in 1980 when he was found buggering me in his bedroom. The only place that P.S.’s age is indicated wrong is in the CFSIU investigation paperwork from 1980. The CFSIU paperwork indicated that P.S. was 12 in 1980.

So, it’s apparent that the CFNIS in March of 1980 had access to the CFSIU investigation paperwork and no doubt the court martial transcripts. And as the Military Police Complaints Commission stated in its final report issued in November of 2020, it is very apparent that the military police in 1980 were well aware of P.S.’s molestation of younger children.

So, what happened?

The more I think about it the more it becomes apparent that the CFNIS in 2011 suffered from a very bad case of tunnel vision.

The Department of National Defence and the Canadian Armed Forces are comprised of multiple units. DND and the CF have a department that specifically looks out for matters that could cause DND and the CF problems on the civil liability front. This is the Director of Claims and Civil Liabilities.

http://www.ombudsman.forces.gc.ca/assets/OMBUDSMAN_Internet/docs/en/grievance-process.pdf

In November of 2008, the Director of Claims and Civil Liabilities indicated that the Department of National Defence was willing to make a cash offer to P.S. to have him discontinue his $4.5 million dollar action against DND in the Alberta Court of Queen’s Bench for the abuse he suffered at the hands of Captain McRae. This would have had to have been approved not only by CF Chain of Command, but also the Department of Justice as the DOJ serves as the lawyer for the Government of Canada.

The lawyer for P.S. accepted the offer in late November of 2008 and the case was discontinued in December of 2008.

2 years, 3 months, and four days later I send my fateful email to the Edmonton Police Service.

How much do you wanna wager that when the CFNIS took my initial complaint and started populating the fields of their intake form that notifications popped up requesting that the investigators notify certain superiors?

Were the CFNIS investigators then briefed about the sensitive nature of this matter?

Was it suggested to the CFNIS investigators that I had somehow found out about the payday that P.S. enjoyed and that I was obviously just another shyster looking for a quick buck?

Don’t forget, the DOJ and the Legal Advisor are parts of very large bureaucracies that seemingly answer to no one but themselves.

Looking back at the CFNIS paperwork, which I did not have access to until AFTER the MPCC reviewed my complaint against the CFNIS in 2013, it became apparent right from the get go that the CFNIS had written off my complaint against P.S. as trivial.

In fact, according to the paperwork the CFNIS seemed rather hellbent on portraying me as a “societal malcontent with an axe to grind against the military”, that I “frequently changed jobs and was unhappy”, and that I was always looking for easy money.

How does my father forget about the fact that it was his mother raising my brother and I and that he was rarely home?

How does the CFNIS ignore my social service records which keep mentioning “grandma” all over the place and that Mr.Gill invited his mother, the children’s grandmother into the home to raise his children after his wife “abandoned” the family instead to only concentrate on the section of the social service paperwork that says that I am an emotionally disturbed child.

How does the CFNIS justify the observation of Warrant Officer Blair Hart in July of 2011 that this investigation was unlikely to go anywhere due to a lack of evidence, before the other victims had been interviewed and before the suspect had been interviewed?

Tunnel vision.

Don’t forget, the CFNIS is part of a very hierarchical organization where it is imperative that the lawful commands of superiors are obeyed at all times.

The Vice Chief of Defence Staff can issue directions and instructions to the Provost Marshal and the CFNIS relating to ANY investigation.

What if the chain of command didn’t issue outright instructions, but let their subordinates know that I was just a scammer looking to make a quick buck?

I fully understand that my father had issues with telling the truth. He was always like that. But I can’t see my father excising his mother from about 6 years of our lives as kids unless someone had maybe explained to him prior to his interview that his son was obviously just trying to juice the military for some easy cash.

This is my father’s interview with the psychologist hired by the Canadian Armed Forces in November of 1980

“[he] appeared concerned about [his mother’s drinking], suggesting [she was] emotionally abusive to both children, especially when inebriated. As well, [Richard] suggested that [his mother] attempts to undermine any closeness between [him] and [his sons] by telling them false stories”. Yes, my father was a psychological nutcase. That much is clear. And here he is in October of 1980 throwing his own mother to the wolves. The same woman that he desperately needed to raise his children. So yes, it would have been very easy for the CFNIS to manipulate Richard into giving him a statement devoid of grandma.

Again why?

Simple tunnel vision.

Someone up the chain of command decided that I was just some greedy civie looking to make a quick buck from the DND and the CF. This view was dispersed through the Provost Marshal and the CFNIS. Again, due to Section 83 of the National Defence Act, this view doesn’t have to be spread directly down to the actual investigators. Just high enough up that chain of command that subordinates none the less become aware of these thoughts.

And once this tunnel vision sets in it’s so very hard to take the blinders off and see the larger picture.

It will be interesting to see just how much of the truth is able to come out about not only the events on Canadian Forces Base Namao but also about the CFNIS investigation GO 2011-5754 during my class action lawsuit against the Department of National Defence and the Canadian Armed Forces.

Everything is “discoverable”……. everything.

Why do I talk so much about dying?

One curious person wonders why I talk so much about death.

Death is all around us. Each and everyone of us will die. Some of us will die sooner than the others. Some of us will die due to the actions of others. And some of us will even die at our own hands. None of us are getting out of here alive.

And as my chances of receiving any type of justice from the Canadian Forces military justice system start to drastically dwindle, my resolve to apply for Medical Assistance in Dying becomes more solid.

In the next year I’ll probably discuss the procedure in more detail as I learn more about it myself.

I’ll also get more into my depression and my anxiety and how they caused numerous problems for me in my life. I’ll also hopefully be able to explain to you just how fucking hard it is for a male to get sexual abuse counselling in our society and how it is literally impossible for a former military dependent to obtain counselling that takes into account the military environment that they grew up in.

As I’ve mentioned previously, suicide is actually common in our society no matter the desire of the media to hide suicide from public view.

table from the BC Coroner Service

I also have no doubt in my mind that there are numerous suicides that don’t get reported as suicides whether that’s done to spare the family “shame” or if its done because the person finally succumbs to their injuries weeks or months after the attempt.

The above table indicates that between the years 2008 and 2018 six thousand one hundred and two people committed suicide in the province of British Columbia alone. And would you look at the age group that commits suicide the most frequently ……

What is not listed in the table above are those who have attempted suicide or those who have had suicidal ideations.

Also what appears to not be incorporated into the table above is the number of Medically Assisted Deaths such as in the table below:

MAID deaths in Canada
These numbers are expected to increase substantially as “foreseeable death” is no longer required as of 2021 and “mental illness” becomes an allowable category in March of 2023.

One of the most common things heard after someone successfully commits suicide is “I had no idea they were depressed” or “Why?”.

I have heard frequently that those who have attempted suicide are just seeking attention and those who have committed suicide are just selfish and thinking of no one else but themselves. It really irks me that society thinks that I owe it to society to live.

The son of one of my engineers at work committed suicide last year. This engineer was beyond distraught. So I had a talk with him. I told him that the only person who knows why his son killed himself is his son. If his son was determined to take his own life, there was absolutely nothing this engineer could have done to stop him. The engineer wanted to know if he had missed the signs that his son was depressed or sad. I asked him if he knew that I suffered from major depression and severe anxiety. He replied “no”. I mentioned to him my own struggles both in the past and currently. Knowing this seemed to put him at ease.

And I think that was always one of the fears that I had in the back of my mind. That when I decided to go that no one would understand why I went and that my father or the Canadian Armed Forces would be able to pass me off as just being insane or simply out to get attention. This blog details my justification for ending my life. I explain everything to the best of my ability. If and when I am able to undergo Medical Assistance in Dying there shouldn’t be any unanswered questions.

The fear of pain is another reason I have never been able to follow through on my attempts. Asphyxiation, bleeding out, jumping from heights, electrocution, pills, etc., none of these are without pain and prolonged suffering. I don’t like pain and I sure as hell don’t want to be hooked up to a ventilator for 2 weeks because someone “saved me”. That’s the nice thing about Medical Assistance in Dying. It’s done as humanely as possible. There will be no pain and there will be no suffering. And it will be very quick. One minute I’ll be alive. The next minute I’ll be completely unconscious. Then I’ll be in a coma. Then I’ll be dead. Supposed to take about 6 minutes from start to finish.

Again, I’m not afraid of death. I am afraid of dying. Death doesn’t bother me because I’ll be dead. It’s the process of going from living to dead that causes me concern. Most suicide attempts fail. With Medical Assistance in Dying I don’t have to worry. Everything will be looked after by professionals.

Being alone. As much as I want to die, dying alone would suck. Why do I have to scurry away to a hidey-hole to die like some sick or injured animal. That’s what I like the most about Medical Assistance in Dying. I don’t have to die alone. At the bare minimum the practitioner performing the procedure will be there. I don’t know who else I’d ask to be there. Don’t really have any friends and my family is more or less none existent. I’d like to keep my death a somewhat private affair.

And with Medical Assistance in Dying I know that my corpse will be looked after. Sure, I’m having some difficulty at the moment trying to figure out how to get my brain to go where I want my brain to go, but regardless my corpse won’t be found a week after I die due to the stench wafting out of my apartment.
But Bobbie, if your goal is to die, why do you care about your corpse after you die?
Simple.
Do you realize how much it fucks with someone’s wellbeing to stumble across a dead body?
Especially if they weren’t expecting it?
And as much as I desire to get out of here, fucking with others isn’t high on my list of priorities.

And as I mentioned at the top of this blog entry, I had always from a young age hoped and dreamed that P.S. would somehow be held responsible for what he did. But he won’t. Nor for that matter will Earl Ray Stevens. And as there is no heaven, hell, or afterlife, so telling me that they’ll be looked after in the afterlife is meaningless to me.

By holding P.S. and Earl responsible for what they did I was hoping for Richard to be held responsible for the shit he put me through as a result of the CFB Namao matter. Well Richard died in 2017, so getting even the slightest acknowledgment from Richard would be impossible.

As I told Sgt. Winship during our meeting, the one aspect of this whole event that I resent the most is that P.S. is loved by is father. Retired Sgt. J.S. couldn’t stop fawning over his son, how his son was the victim in this whole tragic affair, how the military never helped his son and how the military is to blame for his son going on to molest many more children over the years. P.S.’s sister D.S. lied on P.S.’s behalf. P.S.’s younger brother P.S. also lied on behalf of P.S..

My father lied to the CFNIS in 2011. And it wasn’t just that he forgot to mention something. The fucker outright stabbed me in the back and threw me under the fucking train. I guess he never got over Captain Totzke diagnosing me as a homosexual at age 9 and blaming me for “allowing” P.S. to molest my younger brother. He obviously never forgave me for “fucking with his military career”.

“very inconsistent”

This nugget showed up in the copy of my Foster Care records that had been obtained by my lawyer for a different matter. I hadn’t seen this in the records that I obtained in August of 2011. Before CFB Namao I don’t think there were any issues between myself and my brother. At least I don’t remember any. After Namao we are getting flagged in Alberta and Ontario for “extreme sibling rivalry”. What changed?
Well, as it says in the except, my father disciplined my brother and I very differently. Whatever my brother got, I usually got twice as hard. Why?
Richard had determined that my brother was acting up due to what I had “allowed” the babysitter to do to him. And, due to Richard’s piss poor parenting skills, Richard came to believe that I was responsible for raising my brother. And if my brother got into trouble then I obviously deserved twice as much punishment because I wasn’t being responsible and looking after my younger brother.

So yeah, as you can see, there is a lot of damage.

Why do I think that death is the only answer to my problems?

Why do you think that living is something that I need to do?

40 years ago was the time to deal with my issues. 40 years ago treatment would have done something. Not now. Now is far too late. And the older I get the more the toxins of depression build up. The more regret builds up. The more time passes the more that “what could have been” eats at me from the inside.
Yeah, sure, the Escitalopram is keeping my severe depressions at bay and it nips my anxiety in the bud, but being medically numbed for the rest of my life does absolutely nothing for the constant replaying memories and the constant regret.

As I’ve said, if the abuse had been limited to P.S. grabbing my nutsack on one occasion, fine. But this asshole was extremely sadistic in his abuse. The memories of what he did to not only myself but the other kids is forever etched into my mind. And throw into the mix Captain Totzke’s “treatments” and my father’s absolute disdain, and you’ve got some very heavy duty toxins.

My meeting with Sgt. David Winship and Captain Chelsea St-Amand on Thursday April 21st, was the first time that anyone from the Canadian Armed Forces ever came to the realization that I can’t get any type of beneficial counselling through “normal” civilian channels. I wasn’t just sexually abused for 1-1/2 years on Canadian Forces Base Namao by P.S. and potentially Captain Father Angus McRae. I was also mind fucked for 2-1/2 years by Canadian Armed Forces social worker Captain Terry Totzke. Captain Terry Totzke’s rank of Captain and his determination that I was a “homosexual” at age 9 no doubt had a significant amount of influence on my father’s opinion of me and contributed to how my father treated me at home. Sgt. Winship agreed that the Canadian Forces had a very dim view of “homosexuality” back then and that the CFSIU investigation of Captain McRae for committing “Acts of Homosexuality” didn’t really help the matter.
Sgt. Winship indicated that the crimes of “Gross Indecency”, “Indecent Assault”, and especially “Buggery” were crimes that both parties could in fact be charged with implying that back then both parties would have been deemed to be culpable.
Sgt. Winship agreed that I can’t just deal with the sexual assault aspect without dealing with the Captain Totzke issues and the issues caused by my father. Civilian counsellors however are completely at a loss as to how I would ever have been involved with military social workers or how living in a military family at the time would have impacted how I was dealt with and treated in the aftermath of the CFB Namao incident.

So………..

March 2023 is when I find out what my possibilities are. I can bide my time until then. But even then, I will probably have a year and a bit before I can undergo the procedure and go to sleep and never be troubled by CFB Namao ever again.

So, you’re all welcome to follow along. I won’t blame anyone for not following.

All that I ask is that you don’t cast judgement on my decision.

It’s mine and mine alone to make.

The Informal Resolution pt.2

On Thursday April 21st, I had a sit down with Captain Chelsea St-Amand and Sergeant David Winship, both of the CFNIS Western Region detachment.

The meeting took place in a boardroom at VPD Headquarters and ran from 13:00 until 16:00.

On the complaint form that I had submitted to the MPCC I had selected the option box indicating that I would be open to an informal resolution so I got an informal resolution meeting.

So, first off I’ll apologize to Sgt. Winship for the complaint I brought against him, not because my complaint was without merit, but because as I discovered during the meeting that Sgt. Winship was not the lead investigator in my matter against the man from the sauna.

The lead investigator in my matter is actually Sgt. Justin Brady.

Sgt. Winship is actually the case manager.

Some of the highlights that came out of the meeting.

Sgt. Winship agreed that unlike a member of the Canadian Forces who can go through their chain of command to voice concerns and complaints against the CFNIS, as a civilian I do not have access to that avenue. I only have the MPCC and at that the MPCC doesn’t take complaints about “investigations”, the MPCC only accepts “conduct” complaints against investigators. This oversight in the National Defence Act seems to come from the mistaken understanding that only military members who can make complaints via their chain of command are the only persons making criminal complaints to the CFNIS. Civilian victims of crime such as myself are outliers that weren’t planned for.

(As a side note, as a civilian the prospect of redress is also unavailable to me. Redress is where a complaint is made directly to the Chief of Defence Staff and the CDS can review any matter brought to their attention. This is how Stephanie Raymonde was able to have her matter looked at again in 2014)

We talked for a bit about my distrust of the military justice system related to the news from the ’90s and pretty well up to the current day. The horrific flaws with the National Defence Act that had to be fixed due to the inability of the military justice system to deal with the illegal actions in Bosnia and Somalia. Then there were the findings of Madame Marie Deschamps in 2015 that found that the military justice system could not properly conduct sexual assault investigations, and the 2021 recommendations of former Supreme Court of Canada justice Louise Arbour that only civilian police be allowed to investigate military sexual assaults which resulted in Minister of National Defence Anita Anand ordering all current sexual assault investigations be moved to the civilian police.

I also discussed how I could never bring myself to trust the CFNIS after they took my father’s statement at full face value and never attempted to re-interview my father when my foster care records were made available to the CFNIS in 2011 and indicated that there were very serious concerns with my father’s statement. My father’s statement had a significant impact on the Crown’s decision to not lay charges against P.S. as my father claimed there was never a babysitter in the house.

Which brings up my matter and which was the cause of the MPCC complaint and the informal resolution meeting. Sgt. Winship assures me that there is nothing political with the decision for the CFNIS to retain my investigation. Sgt. Winship says that my investigation was sent for review and it was decided to keep it within the CFNIS because they were at the stage of interviewing both P.S. and R.B..

I don’t know how receptive P.S. will be to being interviewed by the CFNIS. The more I think about it the more I believe that P.S. attempted suicide in the year 2000 as too many brats from CFB Namao kept making complaints against him. So I’m pretty sure that P.S. will no doubt have a good attorney who will tell him to tell the CFNIS to go away.

R.B. is a different matter. The CFNIS are still waiting for Library and Archives Canada to give the CFNIS a copy of R.B.’s service file. I find it sad that law enforcement doesn’t have priority access to service files at the LAC.

We talked for a bit about counselling and if I’ve tried to access it. I explained that one of the most significant issues that I have with receiving counselling is that almost every counsellor that I’ve dealt with to date is unfamiliar with the military aspect of what I went through. Having a military social worker who was blaming me for basically allowing myself to be sexually abused really fucks with one’s brain. Being labelled by this military social worker as being a homosexual is just as bad as being blamed for the abuse. Having a father at home, who due to his rank of Master Corporal, was probably placing very special emphasis on what the Captain was saying was just as fucking devastating as what the Captain was saying. And even Sgt. Winship agreed that there is no way that I will be able to deal with the sexual assault components on their own without dealing with all of the other aspects. Sgt. Winship mentioned that male on male sexual assaults were just handled a lot differently back then. I added that I think what really bad was when Captain David Pilling requested that Warrant Officer Fred Cunningham investigate Captain Father Angus McRae for committing “Acts of Homosexuality” with boys on CFB Namao that this tarred all of McRae’s and P.S.’s victims as also being “homosexuals”. And back in the day, the official policy of the Canadian Armed Forces was that homosexuality was a mental defect. To this end, Sgt. Winship said that when he got back to Edmonton that he would talk to some counsellors that he knew of that specialized in treating survivors of military sexual assault trauma who also work with civilians to see if the would be able to somehow bring their military services into the civilian realm. We also discussed a bit about how military dependents such as myself are ineligible for assistance through the Canadian Armed Forces and how most provinces balk at picking up the costs for counselling or therapy, especially if the former dependent is living in a province where the assaults did not occur. Members and former members of the Canadian Forces can receive help no matter where they live. This is not true for former military dependents.

Communication is one of the things that we discussed. Just a periodic heads up along with an explanation of the current status of the investigation would be great.

We did briefly discuss the fallout of the Lamer Report, the findings of the Somalia Commission, the findings of Madame Marie Deschamps, recommendations of former Supreme Court of Canada justice Louise Arbour. I also brought up some of the concerns that the Military Police Complaints Commission has voiced about the Vice Chief of Defence Staff, a position that is not law enforcement and is not a sworn peace officer, making recommendations and issuing instructions for any CFNIS investigation and that how even though in theory the Provost Marshal is supposed to make those recommendations or instructions available to the “public” that all the Provost Marshal has to do is post a copy of those instructions in the 10th floor coffee room at National Defence Head Quarters and the Provost Marshal has met their obligation.
Sgt. Winship is adamant that he would not allow the chain of command to interfere with his investigations.
I brought up the matter of Corporal Stuart Langridge and how CFNIS investigator Sgt. Matthew Ritco had told the MPCC Inquiry that CFNIS brass had rewritten his report and instructed him to sign the new report.
Again Sgt. Winship insisted that he would have refused to sign the report.

All in all it was a productive meeting.

I’m still very wary of the CFNIS and the Canadian Forces, but at least I feel more comfortable with Sgt. Winship and the current investigation into the man in the sauna.

Who knew that it would be this hard.

Disposing of a body is harder than one could imagine.

So……

It doesn’t look as if I will be able to donate my brain after my death.

And this kinda saddens me a bit.

I had always envisioned that my brain would serve some useful purpose.

After all I survived:
– sexual abuse
-mental abuse
-physical abuse
-neglect

I have lived with and coped with:
-CPTSD
-Major Depression
-Severe Anxiety
-The effects of military conversion therapy

The thought of death has never been very far.

Depression runs in my family.

And yet not once have I stuck a needle in my arm or snorted anything up my nose or toked on anything. The last time I had a drink was in July of 2011 and even then I was a very infrequent drinker.

I’ve had to deal with personality issues caused no doubt by the various traumas and abuses.

And yet I’ve somewhat navigated life and ended up with stable employment even if it is not at the level of employment that I could have risen to.

This rise is something that I’ve done on my own with absolutely no help from my father or my family. During all of the times I was unemployed in the early ’90s Richard was of no use. Even when I was on Skid Row in Vancouver and Toronto my father was of no assistance.

I did this all on my own.

You would think that research labs would want to know what it was inside my brain that allowed me to go from basically non-functional and requiring psychiatric institutionalization at age 10 to being the Chief Engineer of a hospital at 47.

Nope.

It’s like the field of depression research is oblivious to confirmation bias. By this I mean that researches are obviously looking for answers where they expect to find them, in the brains of depressed people who have not fared well in life. Or the researches go looking for the answers to drug addiction in the brains of those who were abused and who succumbed to drugs and other forms of self medication. They often use the brains of those who have never suffered from depression in their lives as a reference point. And that’s great if you’re only concerned about the two extremes, but it gives you absolutely no data about those in between the two extremes.

Where my body goes after my death? Don’t know really. So long as it isn’t cremated or buried, I’m cool with that.

Medical school would be nice.

But medical schools like UBC pose a problem in the sense that they only take “whole body” donations for their medical students to dissect. If my brain were to be removed immediately after my death, then UBC wouldn’t take my body.

Conversely, no brain research program would take my brain after it had been removed from my skull by medical students.

Now, of course this is all really silly when you think about it isn’t it?

After I’m dead they could launch by body into space and I wouldn’t have the foggiest clue, would I. What they do with my corpse and my brain after I’m dead and gone is really a matter of trust. But still…….


Why don’t you get help? Have you tried this? Have you just tried not thinking about that? Just move on Bobbie, you’re stuck in the past.

Well intentioned people often don’t realize the harm they do.

From October of 1980 to until April of 1983 I was in the care of a military social worker named Captain Terry Totzke.

Terry as I knew him.

Under Totzke’s care I had seen a few different psychologists in the Edmonton area. But even though I had been seen by various psychologists I never did receive any type of treatment even though as I would find out they were calling for drastic measures including institutionalization.

When Alberta Social Services became involved with my family in November of 1981, Terry seemed to always be at odds with Pat and Wayne. At the time I thought that Terry, Pat, and Wayne worked for the same organization.

It wouldn’t be until August of 2011 that I learnt that Terry was a captain in the Canadian Armed Forces and that both Pat and Wayne were my civilian child care workers and that Alberta Social Services had been called in due to the inactions and inability of Captain Totzke to help me with my myriad issues.

It would appear that Terry had a very different agenda from that of Alberta Social Services.

Because of the way that Terry and my father reacted to Alberta Social Services I formed very negative views not only of myself, but also of “do gooders” like Pat and Wayne.

Both Captain Totzke and my father had drilled into my head that what happened on CFB Namao was my fault, that I was to blame for what happened to my younger brother, and Terry was adamant that I had a mental illness called “homosexuality”.

I was told by both Terry and my father that I needed to be very careful with what I told Pat and Wayne as they would “twist my words” and make it sound as if I said things that I didn’t say.

I was supposed to have received psychiatric care back then.

But I never did.

Instead what I received was torment, apathy, anger, and belittlement.

It WAS my fault.

I LET the babysitter touch my younger brother.

I was just ACTING up for attention.

I was a SELFISH asshole.

I FUCKED with my father’s military career.

Throw into this mix my grandmother’s issues and my father’s issues and you hopefully can understand that my mental health and well-being were doomed.

As one would expect, a child suffering from major depression and severe anxiety often has a very hard time making friends. So I was fucking lonely.

And a kid without friends often gets beat up a lot. And I got beat up a lot.

A depressed child tends to cry a lot. Nothing would fire up my father’s temper like my “whining” and my “pouting”. Richard was always more than happy to give me something to cry about.

And this doesn’t take into account all of the memories of the sexual abuse that occurred on CFB Namao. Even though it was known what had happened on CFB Namao, Terry knew, my father knew, I received absolutely no help with the year and a half of sexual abuse and the hands of a very disturbed teenager.

So, it should be readily apparent that I am not a suitable candidate for touchy-feely, celebrate you inner-child type therapy.

I was a kid who was found in 1981 to be completely unable to display or express any type of emotion.

One coping mechanism I had found was to allow myself to be the butt of everyone’s jokes. Sure, I was being put down, but at least people were talking about me.

In my adult life I’ve had people call me a psychopath because I couldn’t display emotions.

I often get accused of “being angry” when in fact my mood is neutral. It’s just my face betrays no emotion, so people assume that I’m angry.

I like to keep to myself. So of course this means that I’m a self centred asshole who thinks he’s better than everyone else.

Anyways………..

What therapy do you think will fix this?

Hot Yoga?

Cognitive Behaviour Therapy?

Mystic Chanting?

Electro Convulsive Therapy?

Lithium?

What therapy is going to erase the gross malpractice of Captain Terry Totzke from my brain?

What therapy is going to erase the various incidents of sexual abuse from my brain?

What therapy is going to erase the abuse and neglect of my father and my grandmother from my brain?

How about the abandonment issues. My mother fled an abusive situation and left my brother and I in the care of a rage prone alcoholic. Sure, it’s more than likely that Richard used the Defence Establishment Trespass Regulations to have Marie thrown out of the PMQ by the military police, but I wouldn’t find out about that until around 2014 when I received a copy of a report that looked at spousal abuse in the Canadian Forces.

My father would often take off for weeks or months and leave us in the care of his alcoholic mother or his second wife, Sue.

That has to really fuck with a person’s psyche.

Because of the war that I was caught in between Captain Totzke and my civilian social workers, I have a severe distrust of anyone in that field.

What upsets me is when people say to me that I’m not trying, implying that it’s all my fault for not seeking treatment.

It’s such an odd predicament that I find myself trapped in. A survivor of military sexual trauma who wasn’t in the military. A child living on a military base, the dynamics of which most civilian social workers don’t understand.

Military sexual trauma is a unique beast all on its own as the abuser can use the military hierarchy to control their victims. Sure, P.S. wasn’t in the Canadian Forces, but his father was. And at the time his father was a Sergeant. My father was only a Master Corporal. And then of course Captain McRae was a Captain. P.S. freely threw his father’s rank around as threats to me and the other kids he was abusing. And even though I have nothing in the way of memories after the wine in the rectory, I have no doubt that Captain McRae would have thrown his rank around to threaten the kids that he was abusing.

And don’t ever forget how homophobic the Canadian Armed Forces were back in the ’50s, ’60s,’70s, ’80s, and ’90s. If you were a male child on a military base, and you had been sexually abused by another male, you just kept your mouth shut least people assume that you were a queer, or a faggot, or a homo.

I had tried in all honesty going to a couple of sessions with the BCSMSSA – BC Society for Male Survivors of Sexual Abuse. I tried, I really did. But I just felt like they didn’t believe what I was talking about. Almost as if they were disbelieving of what I was saying as I seemed “too functional” and of course I also detected a bit of skepticism when I told them that I had lived on a military base as a child.

I had tried counselling through work. At first it was great to have someone like Dave to talk to. But then it became clear that talk was all that we were going to do. Yes, it was nice to have a sounding board to reflect off of, but at the end of the day I was expected to fix my problems on my own.

I tried getting help through the EFAP program at work. But again this was more talk therapy.

The public psychiatric system is so underfunded and overwhelmed that people like me, unless we go completely off the fucking rails, we’re not on their radar. And even if we do get on the radar of the public psychiatric system, the system is so overwhelmed that it can only apply bandages to mental wounds and get the person out of the bed ASAP as there’s probably another 20 people waiting in line for that bed. Don’t forget, I work in an urban hospital with a large mental health component. I know exactly how overwhelmed the system is. People like me are not on the radar. I function. I get up in the morning. I take a shower. I take my meds. I go to work. I work. I go home. I go to sleep. I don’t pose a risk to society. Completely off the radar.

Trying to find a psychologist to give me a clear diagnosis is almost absolutely impossible. And without a clear diagnosis there is no place to start from. All I have for a diagnosis is what was contained in my social service paperwork from back in 1980 which said that I was beyond depressed and suffering from severe anxiety.

And without a clear diagnosis there is no place to start from.

More “falling through the cracks”, a skill that I seem so very adept at.

When I hear professionals say “Oh Bobbie, why don’t you give this a try”, or “Oh Bobbie, why don’t you give that a try” all I hear is “Bobbie, your problems are far too complex to be dealt with realistically, so we’re going to blame you for not fixing yourself, you’re not trying!”.

Can’t you just do CBT? It’s all the rage these days.

Have you tried art therapy? Colouring will make your inner child happy.

Just try thinking positive thoughts Bobbie. Positive thoughts will set up positive energy and will get you in tune with the universe.

Crystals Bobbie, crystals have magical healing powers.

I hate myself. I despise myself. I hate my fucking intelligence.

In another post I’ll talk about how my fucking intelligence has been a fucking curse all of my life and how it’s caused just as many problems as it has solved.

You don’t look depressed.

How is a depressed person supposed to look?

One of the issues that I seem to have when being taken serious about my desire to seek Medical Assistance in Dying for mental health issues is that I don’t look “sad”, or “depressed”, or “unhappy”.

I appear smart and intelligent.

Piercings and tattoos are the only form of “self harm” that I engage in. And no, I don’t consider my tattoos or my piercings to be “self harm” or a “cry for help”.

Surely if I was depressed and wanting to die I’d be on drugs, or living on skid row, or a frequent flyer in the local psychiatric wards.

But that’s my problem.

I’ve always been on my own.

I’ve never had anyone to fall back on in times of trouble.

I’ve had to navigate life so fucking carefully that I didn’t end up an drug junkie or an alcoholic on skid row where people could say that I was the captain of my own misfortune.

If I had followed through on any of my previous suicide attempts and not succeeded there would have been absolutely no help from my father. In fact there only would have been shame and ridicule.

I’ve struggled with the fact that if I make one misstep that I’d have a very long fall down the ladder of society.

And believe me, the number of people that attempt suicide and fail far outnumber the number of people that attempt suicide and succeed.

My first attempt was way back on Canadian Forces Base Griesbach when I was about 9. I honestly don’t remember what I thought I was doing. I put the bag over my head and I held the bag around my neck. I kept breathing in and out, but as my lungs started to burn I couldn’t hold the bag any more and I let go of the bag.

The next time I tried was again on Canadian Forces Base Griesbach. This time I taped the bag around my neck thinking that would work better. It didn’t. Again I couldn’t get past the burning in my lungs and I ripped the bag off my face.

I had no idea that killing myself was actually going to be this painful.

The next time I tried suicide was in Toronto when I was living on Canadian Forces Base Downsview. This was before my bedroom had been moved downstairs into the basement in 1986. I had done a “practice run” at the Bloor-Yonge station. I actually did two practice runs. Both times I would wait on the Yonge platform until the trains had left. Then I’d take a little run and jump down on to the tracks. This was just to see if I could work up the nerve to jump down. I would then vault across the 3rd rails and climb up on the other platform and then out of the station.

However, when it came time to do it, I just couldn’t work up the nerve to jump in front of the train.

I don’t mean to sound cliche, but I did try the Bloor Street Vaiduct. Just couldn’t get the nerve to get over the railing.

There were a lot of things that kept me from following through.

Pain. I think my fear of pain has always ranked up there as the #1 reason why I haven’t succumbed to suicide. I really don’t want to spend my last 5, 1o, or 15 minutes on Earth in severe pain, gasping for breath and feeling the pain of broken bones.

Even worse, I always had visions of Andy Anderson with tubes in his skull as the doctors did everything to save his life after he slipped and fell in the bathtub in our PMQ on Canadian Forces Base Namao. Andy honestly had no life after that. They should have just let him die after his first series of blood clots and strokes. He spent the subsequent 5 years “living” in the Mewburn nursing home. He had been warehoused with other people who could no longer function on their own. And that’s another fear that I had. That I would do just enough damage to myself and that some asshole would “save me” and that I’d spend the rest of my “life” living in a facility being fed with a feeding tube.

Yet another reason that I couldn’t ever work up the courage to kill myself is my fear of Richard. I knew that if I had succeeded in killing myself that I would never have to be afraid of Richard again. But what I was afraid of the most is what Richard would do after I was dead. I knew that after I was dead that Richard would be free to blame my suicide on my insanity, that I committed suicide to weasel my way out of accepting responsibility for what I had allowed P.S. to do to my younger brother.

Richard had also impressed upon me from my time with the psychologists and social workers in Edmonton that “I was just acting up to get attention”. And as Richard had really impressed upon me that I was a worthless piece of shit that had fucked with his military career, the last thing I wanted to be seen as was an “attention seeker”.

I had so many reasons to kill myself back in the days of CFB Namao, CFB Griesbach, and CFB Downsview, but yet I couldn’t “man up” and do the deed because I was worried about what my father would say and do. Pretty fucking lame dontcha think?

My next attempt at suicide came in 1994.

I was unemployed. I was collecting E.I. as it was known back then. I had just returned from a disastrous trip out to Toronto to take a job that fell through. My E.I. got cut off because my E.I. cards were still being sent to my Toronto address so I ended up collecting welfare in B.C.

At this point in my life I had been on welfare in three different provinces. Alberta, Ontario, and British Columbia at different points in time between the summer of 1991 and the spring of 1994. I had slept in various Salvation Army houses, as well as different charity dorms.

And no, there was no fucking way on Earth that I was going to endure the humiliation of calling Richard and asking him for assistance that I know wouldn’t be coming anyways.

I know the exact date of the 1994 attempt.

It was the very early morning of Sunday June 12th, sometime after midnight.

I had scoped out the Lions Gate Bridge for around a week prior. And I knew that after midnight car traffic dwindled to almost nothing. I wasn’t planning to jump of the bridge in the typical manner. I didn’t want anyone to see me. I didn’t want anyone to stop me. Earlier in the day on June 11th I had gone to a BC Liquor store and purchased a 6 pack of whatever. I didn’t drink very often, so I knew that a 6 pack would take away my chickenshit fear and would allow me to jump.

When I got to the bridge I waited for a break in traffic, then I headed onto the bridge and got to where the maintenance gondola was parked. The bridge had a gondola underneath that allowed maintenance crews to service and paint the bridge from underneath. There really wasn’t any type of security on this gondola which was amazing when you think about it. So over the railing I went and I climbed down the ladder and onto the gondola.

I don’t knowhow long I was under there. I didn’t have a watch, and this was years before I owned a cellphone. But eventually I drank the last of the six beers. The gondola was parked perfectly over the footing for the south side pylon. If I just sat on the rail of the gondola and leaned back I could hit the footing without bouncing off of any of the ironwork for the pylon. It should be quick and I was so pissed that I probably wouldn’t feel anything. But now I was fucking hallucinating. There was P.S. and my father holding hands and laughing at me. Both of them were calling me a cocksucker, a faggot, a homo. I passed out. I woke up a little while later with no shirt on and both shoes missing.

Fuuuuucccckkkkk.

So I managed to climb back up the ladder, back over the railing and walked back to the Sally Anne on Dunsmuir. Being drunk and without footwear I nearly killed myself in the process of climbing the Gondola ladder. I was screaming my lungs off as I walked through Stanley Park. I couldn’t believe how much of a fucking loser I was. I had the perfect opportunity to kill myself and my childish fears of what Richard would say after my death stopped me.

To this day I still don’t know why I feared Richard as much as I did. It made absolutely no sense. I should have hated him. But I didn’t. I feared him.

Anyways, the reason I know the exact date is that on Monday June 13th, 1994 I ended up at St. Paul’s Hospital. I could barely breath. I was coughing up blood and thick brown / green phlegm. The diagnoses was that I had come down with a bad case of community acquired pneumonia. The doctors had asked me if I had done anything out of the ordinary over the last week, if I had been anywhere unusual. Nope was my answer.

I felt like a fucking idiot.

In between 1994 and 2006 there were a few more attempts with the Skytrain, still couldn’t fucking do it.

The next time I would try to kill myself was in 2006. In August of 2006 I had called Richard and left some blistering messages on his cellphone. The next day he called me. I expected him to be angry. He wasn’t. He was quite shaken. I hadn’t really seen Richard since I moved away from Edmonton in February of 1992. Sure, I stopped in Edmonton in 2003 with my then girlfriend, but Richard barely had the time to speak to me. In my messages I had told him that I was sick and fucking tired of being blamed for what P.S. had done, I was tired of being blamed for having fucked with his military career, I was sick of everything. He knew that I was working at the hospital since the year previous as I had called him for his birthdate and my mother’s birthdate so that I could get my birth certificate replaced as the hospital needed to have a copy for my personnel file. He knew my phone number. He knew my address. But not fucking once did he ever call to see how I was making out.

So out of frustration I called him and vented into his voicemail. I was surprised when he called. I was even more surprised when it sounded like he was scared, like he had been wounded. He told me that yes, he had probably over reacted to what P.S. did ( yes, he used P.S.’s name). He didn’t mean to blame me, but that things were hectic back then. I was the older brother. I was supposed to look out for Scott. He pleaded with me to understand that he didn’t hire P.S.. He told me that he told his mother that he didn’t want P.S. around the house but that grandma kept hiring P.S.. And if I was to be angry at anyone for what P.S. had done, I should be angry at my grandmother for hiring P.S..

Things were great for about two months after this. Richard would call me on a daily basis. He even mailed me a $100 gift certificate to the Old Spaghetti Factory for my birthday. For him to tell the CFNIS in 2011 that he didn’t know how to get hold of me was a fucking crock of shit.

Anyways, just after my birthday the calls started to drop off.

By November he wasn’t calling or returning my calls.

Not a word at Christmas.

So I had decided to jump in front of a Skytrain.

Again I chickened the fuck out.

July 18th, 2011

This was the last time I had ever been in a hospital.

But this hasn’t been the end of my desire to die.

As I’ve said in other posts, in the early 2000’s I had become aware of what was then called “assisted suicide” in Europe. Towards the late ’00s I had heard that in some European countries that depression was an acceptable reason to seek “medical suicide”. I knew that I would never have the money to make it over to Europe. And then the unthinkable started to happen. Jurisdictions across North America started to warm up to the idea of assisted suicide.

Medical Assistance in Dying for Mental Health reasons is so close that I can almost taste the propofol in my tongue. March 2023 to be exact.

Whether or not I have what it takes to pass the “test” to be allowed to die peacefully in my bed without any violence inflected upon my body remains to be seen.

North America has a puritanical streak in which it is believed that everyone must suffer right to the end for a death to be righteous.

I haven’t enjoyed a single fucking day in my life since Canadian Forces Base Namao. Society tells me that I am a fucking loser for wanting to die. Society tells me that I am selfish and only hurting others with my desire to die.

Society tells me that I don’t value the special and unique life that I have been “given”.

I sure as fuck didn’t ask for this. I didn’t tell Richard to fuck Marie so that I could be born.

I didn’t ask for my father to be a rage prone alcoholic in the Canadian Armed Forces.

I didn’t ask for my mother to leave.

I didn’t ask for my grandmother to hire P.S.

I didn’t ask to be molested by P.S. and Captain McRae.

I didn’t ask for my brain to be fucked with by Captain Terry Totzke.

I didn’t ask for my father to be a spineless wimp that followed along with the desires of the Canadian Armed Forces.

I have no interests.

I have no hobbies.

I have no friends.

I have absolutely nothing.

People tell me that I have to live, that I simply have to find the reasons to live, that I’m not trying hard enough.

People tell me that I’m only trying to get attention, that I’m weak, that I’m ungrateful.

People tell me to “forget the past and move on”.

How the fuck does one simply forget what I’ve been through?

Why do I have to keep suffering so that others can feel like they’ve fixed me or cured me?

Trust me, I am angry about a lot of things, but I’m not angry about dying.

Everyone dies.

My death won’t be some unusual event that no other human being has experienced.

Four simple drugs administered via a PICC catheter into the superior vena cava of my heart and I can be freed of all of this dysfunctional shit that is my life.

Midazolam

Propofol

Rocuronium

Bupivacaine

All that I want is to die a little earlier than what the cosmos has planned for me so that I don’t have to live with CFB Namao playing on an endless loop inside my skull. Richard may be dead and gone, and yes it was very cathartic when I found out that he was dead, but his ridicule, his hatred, his loathing, and his depression live inside my skull. P.S. lives in my skull. The knowledge of what Captain McRae did to me after the wine lives inside of my skull. Going to “special school” is inside my skull. Being a grade 8 dropout who missed out on a multitude of opportunities lives in my skull.

Let me go.

Let me be at peace.

Let me be free of the things that I had no control over.

The secrets that cause me to suffer.

The Canadian Forces are adept at keeping secrets no matter who suffers.

As much as I love the final report issued by the Military Police Complaints Commission in 2020 in which the MPCC gave a very subtle and discreet kick to Minister Harjit Sajjan’s balls there is one troubling aspect that has caused me concern.

It’s these pair of paragraphs in the final report.

Basically, the MPCC is stating that I was wrong to assume that the CFNIS were commanded by the Chain of Command to conduct the 2015 to 2018 portion of investigation GO 2011-5754 in such a manner as to not risk exposing in the present day what the Canadian Armed Forces tried to bury in 1980.

Yes, technically the Military Police Complaints Commission is correct in the sense that Captain McRae’s court martial was reported in the media. But lets’ see what was actually in the media versus what happened on the base.

“McRae has been sentenced to four years for buggery with ->A<- child”

In 1980 the Canadian media reported that Captain Father Angus McRae had committed buggery with “A” child. Not 2 children. Not 3 children. Not 10 children. Not 25 children.

ONE FUCKING CHILD.

Not 25 children between the ages of 5 and 15.

ONE FUCKING CHILD.

And that child was P.S..

The only child over the age of 14.

In September of 2002, the Departmental Public Affairs Office (DGPA-DPAPO) of the Department of Justice, which was representing the Department of National Defence and the Minister of National Defence, made edits to a press release that was going to be the Government of Canada’s response to the $4.5 million dollar action brought by P.S..

Why did they strike these words?

Why would the Government of Canada strike the words “Buggery”, “Gross Indecency”, and “Indecent Assault” while leaving the offence numbers 155, 156, 157?

My guess is that simple numbers are meaningless.

Don’t forget, in the early 2000’s, male child sexual abuse was finally being acknowledged. Prior to the mid ’90s and early 2000s it really wasn’t accepted that boys could be the victims of sexual assault.

And in 2002, the Criminal Code that was current in effect was the 1985 Criminal Code of Canada. Not the 1970 Criminal Code. If someone wanted to know what sections 155, 156, and 157 were and they grabbed a copy of the 1985 criminal code they’d really be confused as in the 1985 Criminal Code section 155 was Incest, section 156 was language dealing with offences committed prior to 1983, and section 157 was repealed.

Only if someone was really determined and went to a local law court library and got their hands on a copy of the 1970 Criminal Code would one be able to determine that sections 155, 156, and 157 related to Gross Indecency, Indecent Assault, and Buggery.

And even though the military police and the CFSIU in 1980 knew that as many as 25 children were being sexually abused by Captain McRae and that the military was aware that Captain McRae had confessed during his ecclesiastical to having molested boys for many years meaning that Captain McRae had more than likely molested children on Canadian Forces Base Kington, Canadian Forces Base Portage La Prairie, Canadian Forces Station Holberg, in addition to the 25 children he molested on Canadian Forces Base Namao, the Department of Justice was still going with Captain McRae having only molested “one” boy.

The Department of Justice even went so far as to note that the Canadian Forces had found Captain McRae guilty in a court martial and had subsequently kicked Captain McRae out of the military.

But the Department of Justice made no mention that many of the charges that the military police and the CFSIU had ready to go against Captain McRae had been dismissed by the chain of command prior to Captain McRae’s court martial.

The Department of Justice also fails to note in their press release that unlike in the modern day where charges have to be referred to a prosecutor, in the days of Captain McRae’s court martial it was Captain McRae’s commanding officer, base commander Colonel Daniel Edward Munro, that would determine during a summary investigation which charges would proceed and which charges would be dismissed and not a military prosecutor.

In 1980 Brigadier General Daniel Edward Munro was Colonel Daniel Edward Munro, base commander of Canadian Forces Base Namao and Commanding Officer of Captain Father Angus McRae.

As Legislative Summary LS-311E (1998) indicates, it was Colonel Munro that determined the charges against Captain McRae.

As the Judge Advocate General indicated in 2018, it would be impossible to bring charges against Brigadier General Daniel Edward Munro if it was found that he had acted improperly in 1980 and had committed the Criminal Code offence of “Obstruction of Justice”. And even if Daniel Edward Munro had just been following the orders of his superiors, the same 3-year-time-bar would apply to them.

To this date the Canadian Forces are very happy to leave things in the past.

So, with all of this bullshit and all of the subterfuge and all of the lies is it any wonder that I’ve grown very tired?

When I went to the Edmonton Police Service in 2011 to lay charges against P.S. I honestly thought that I stood a decent chance of getting justice. And if I got justice then there was no way that my father was going to be able to keep blaming me for what I had allowed P.S. to do to my younger brother. My father would have to apologize for the way he had treated me in the aftermath of the P.S. / Captain McRae fiasco on CFB Namao.

The Canadian Forces and their defective investigation agency stole that away from me.

The court martial transcripts from McRae’s court martial, the CFSIU investigation paperwork, and what retired Warrant Officer Frederick R. Cunningham had told me on November 27th, 2011, all indicate that the military police in 1980 knew what P.S. had done. But the 2011 investigation was a big nothing burger.

My old man died and got off scot-free. He’ll never have to apologize and explain his part in this horrid mess.

And I’m the one who is stuck with having to request Medical Assistance in Dying for mental health issues when it becomes legal in March of 2023 to erase all of the memories of 1978 through 1987 and 2011 to the present day.