Well, I had a really weird dream last night.
It took place in March of next year.
Parliament finally did the right thing and allowed Medical Assistance in Dying with Mental Illness as the Sole Underlying Medical Condition.
Of course I went to my doctor and applied to be seen by two assessors as soon as possible.
When I went to see my first assessor, she worked in a tall heritage building. She had the windows cracked for a little breeze to come in to her office.
We started talking about why I wanted to die and what it was that I hoped to accomplish from dying.
I told her that I wanted to be free of what happened on CFB Namao. And that I wanted to be free from the untreated mental illness, the depression, the anxiety, and all of the other issues that I had as a result of the way things were handled be employees of the Canadian Armed Force such as my father and Captain Terry Totzke back then. I then went on to list eveything that I had been through since the fall of 1978 until recent.
She asked “Do you hear that?”
I said “No”
She said, “It sounds like the phone, I have to go answer it”. She then jumped out the window and fell to her death on the sidewalk.
As I was looking out the window her receptionist came in and said “Please don’t jump, you have too much to live for”.
I went back to my doctor and asked for another referral. My doctor sent me to another assesor. This time one in a building with windows that didn’t open.
It was literally the same questions as the assesor before.
This time it wasn’t a phone. This time the assesor just ran at the window and crashed through.
Back to my doctor again. This time he sent me to an assesor on the ground floor.
Went in and talked to this assessor, she seemed more grounded.
We talked for hours. And then at the end she wrote me a prescription for M.A.i.D.
The second assessor went pretty smooth as well.
The dream cut to me at work, all of the patients and staff had moved to the new site so now I was in charge of a dead hospital.
For some reason senior leadership wanted all of the kitchen refrigeration condensing units upgraded and replaced even through I had shut the refrigeration down the day after everything moved to the new site.
I got a call from the M.A.i.D. clinic telling me that the 90 day waiting period was over and that I could pick the date of my death. They also asked if I had figured out where I wanted my death to occur.
I told them that I had a couple of funeral homes picked out that would allow the proceedure on their premises, then hold my body for the waiting period, and the cremate my body.
The clinic said that it sounded like I had everything planned out.
I told them that I had been waiting for this day for most of my life and that I didn’t want to fuck anything up.
The clinic said that I had to come in and reserve my date on their calendar.
I then found myself in the clinic with this massive linear calendar on the wall. There were other people that had been sexually abused as kids living on Canadian Forces Bases. They were all gleefully hanging their symbols on the calendar, and when they’d do so the date would appear in translucent numbers above the calendar.
All of them were talking about the same thing. How the Canadian Armed Forces chucked us all under the train, not because the military is evil, but because the military is full of little men, with little dicks, that were too afraid to admit that bad things could happen to children living on the bases.
As the other former base brats would hang their symbols on the calendar, they’d cheer and do a little happy dance.
A news reporter came in and wanted to know why we didn’t just go to therapy and why were we so intent on killing ourselves. One of the other former brats came over and started talking to the reporter about how because no one ever believed us and just swallowed everything the military had to say that therapy was well out of the question.
I picked my date. I did my happy dance. I knew that this shit would be over soon.
David Pugliese came in and started talking to me about the story that he wanted to write about me. I asked him what the point was, that I wasn’t going to be around to read the story when he finished it.
The CBC was there, and the CBC wanted to know why we were trying to make the military look bad.
The dream ended shortly thereafter.
