Why?

why can’t society just accept the fact that some people just don’t want to live?

Society seems to believe that everyone should enjoy life, and that if they don’t enjoy life then the person wishing to die is the problem and they had better smarten up.

It’s almost as if society is so hellbent on doing everything it can to hide the defects in everyday life. It’s almost as if society knows that life is fucked, but if they have to suffer then everyone else is going to have to suffer.

My desire to die via Medical Assistance in Dying is not something that I’ve just developed since M.A.i.D. was first legalized in Canada in 2016. My desires to die have existed since the day the babysitter first slipped his hands down my pants when I was 7. And the desire was only amplified with every depraved act he did to me or forced me to do to him over the next 1-1/2 years.

Whether it’s a blessing or a curse, the memories of what happened in the rectory after the “sickly sweet grape juice” are very, very vague. I do remember on time having rectal bleeding after one visit. And I do remember getting a beating from my grandmother after another visit when I guess the babysitter had brought me back home a little too intoxicated and my grandmother first accused me of getting into her booze, and then when she checked her boozed and saw that it was all there, she accused me of getting into my father’s booze. Even though my father was away on training exercises, she said that it appeared that his booze hadn’t been touched. So she dragged me around the PMQ patch while interrogating all of the teenage kids to see if one of them gave me the booze.

The actions of Captain Totzke and my father in the aftermath of the CFB Namao child sexual abuse scandal really intensified my desires. And the desires have never gone away.

As I’ve said in other posts, I’ve never followed through with my desires simply due to the fact that I am terrified of fucking up the act and ending up as a brain damaged vegetable in a hospital having to endure 20 years of a feeding tube and nursing students wiping my ass.

That’s not a reason to live.

I’ve seen too many people trapped inside broken bodies, nope, not for me.

It’s not my job to undo the damage that the babysitter, Captain McRae, Captain Totzke, or my father bestowed upon me via sexual abuse, mental abuse, psychological neglect, or neglect in general.

It’s not my responsibility to take drugs for the rest of my life so that I become a compliant zombie.

It’s not my responsibility to go for therapy where I can learn how to hide my issues and mask my inner turmoil so that the rest of you can feel comfortable.

It’s not my job to pretend what happened didn’t happen and that it was my fault for getting “stuck in a rut”.