Well, I was finally able to get my story out on the news.
Sure, it took some inappropriate questioning from the Department of Justice to upset my lawyer.
But my story is finally out there.
My lawyer, Mathew Farrell, obviously knows how to work with the media, which helps.
And it took a receptive reporter to take an interest in this story.
So far only three reporters have shown any interest in this matter: David Pugliese; Nora Loreto; And now Jill Croteau.
Jill Croteau with Global News in Calgary conducted the interview. The videographer was Sergio Magro.
Sergio came to my apartment and set up his camera and lighting. Jill conducted the interview via Facetime from Calgary.
This isn’t the first interview that I’ve had. I was interviewed in my apartment in much the same manner by another network a few years ago, but the decision was made to scrap the interview and instead turn my story and the story of the 25 kids from Canadian Forces Base Namao into some sort of “click your own adventure” time line curiosity.
Jill asked good questions and wasn’t afraid to inquire about my desire for M.A.i.D.
The subject of M.A.i.D. and my death is probably what scares most media away. Suicide is a very verboten subject in North America. Death itself is almost never talked about in the media unless it’s an unplanned event like a murder or a car collision. But the idea of ending one’s own life on purpose is enough to scare away just about everyone. So I was relived that Jill was willing to discuss this.
The interview went on for close to an hour, and I was terrified that when I saw the news story that I would have appeared rambling and incoherent. But Jill, Sergio, and their crew were able to edit and trim the video in such a way that the story was presented in a professional manner and all relevant topics were discussed.
I didn’t actually watch the interview until yesterday. I’ve never really liked hearing my own voice. I think that’s one of the reasons that I haven’t followed through on my vlog too much. Guess maybe I’ll have to try and give it another shot.
Now the question is, how do I keep the momentum going on this?
The Department of Justice has already stated their intentions of dragging this matter out for as long as possible. And I don’t for a minute doubt that they would do so. My babysitter and Captain McRae’s altar boy, P.S., filed suite against the DND back in March of 2001. The Department of Justice dragged that matter out until November of 2008?
Because they could.
And from reading the documents that I received from the Department of Justice when they represented the DND, the DOJ was trying to find any little bit of case law that they could use to show that the DND wasn’t responsible for children living on military bases who were sexually abused by military personnel.
Another reason that the Department of Justice would have delayed P.S.’s civil action for as long as possible is they were obviously hoping that P.S. would abandon his action.
Don’t forget, the Department of Justice enjoys an unlimited amount of taxpayer funds. They can wait this out for 10, 15, even 20 years if they wanted to.
You can bet that keeping the attention of the media over 10 years is going to be very hard to do. But this too is also what the Department of Justice is counting on.
See, the worst thing for the Department of Justice, the Canadian Armed Forces, and the Department of Justice is for this matter to stick in the media.
The lawyer for the DOJ asked me during the May 6th meeting if I had any knowledge of where the other children from Canadian Forces Base Namao that were sexually abused by Captain McRae and his altar boy, P.S. currently are. I responded to the DOJ lawyer that the unofficial emblem for military dependents is the dandelion. The dandelion was primarily chosen because when the dandelion matures and goes to fluff, the fluff which represents military dependents gets carried around whichever way the wind blows. I explained that military dependents move around a lot as kids. As adults we often live no where near the bases on which we grew up as children. In fact, most of the bases we lived on as kids have long since been shutdown and disposed of. I believe that I said that it would be unfair of the D.O.J. to expect me to be able to come up with all of the names of the children who had been abused by Captain McRae and his altar boy on CFB Namao.
I know for a fact that neither the DND or the Library and Archives Canada maintain records of the children who lived on the bases. Nor does the DND or the Library and Archives Canada maintain a registry of service members who lived in the PMQs over the years.
The only way to get the word out to former military dependents is for the media to keep airing these types of stories. The more these stories are aired, and the more these stories permeate the public consciousness, the more likely that other military dependents will start coming forward.
The DND and the D.O.J. would really prefer that as few people know about this class action as possible. The fewer people that know, the happier the DND and the D.O.J. are. It’s not just my class action they’re afraid of. They’re afraid of the copycat class actions that my class action may inspire.
So again, thanks to David, Nora, Jill, and Sergio.
“Has he been on pharmaceuticals all his life to control his emotions”?
“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”?
“has he ended up in hospital due to previous suicide attempts”?
“Has he been going to non-stop therapy since 1980”?
“Has he been on pharmaceuticals all his life to control his emotions”?
“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 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?
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
“[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.
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.
The battle of the sexes has some really bad side effects.
One thing that everyone should take into consideration with male child sexual abuse is the general perception the public has that as boys have penises, they can only be perpetrators, not victims.
Take the crime of buggery for example. Buggery was the offence of anal intercourse with another male. As the law was written, buggery was a victimless crime. Both parties were seen as being guilty. And the age difference between the parties didn’t matter.
In May of 1980 Captain David Pilling of Canadian Forces Base Namao requested that Warrant Officer Frederick R. Cunningham investigate Captain Father Angus McRae for having committed “Acts of Homosexuality ” with teenaged boys on the base. This came as a result of an investigation military police officers Mossman and Clark had initiated against 14 year old P.S. as a result of numerous parents on the base complaining about P.S.’s inappropriate actions with younger children on the base.
This would have also been about the time I had been caught being fucked in the ass by P.S. in the bedroom of his family PMQ. And as the court martial transcripts indicate for Captain McRae’s court martial, P.S. had been caught trying to bugger some boys in the “horse shoe” forest behind the rec centre and he had already been sent for psychological treatments due to his attractions to younger boys.
“Acts of homosexuality” is a very curious phrase, is it not?
But, that’s the way things “were back then”.
Boys have penises.
Boys can only be perpetrators.
Boys cannot be the victim.
This is why Canadian Armed Forces officer Captain Terry Totzke was adamant that the issues I was exhibiting in October of 1980 were due to a mental illness that I had that he called “homosexuality”. It was because of this illness that he told me that he had the base military police watching me.
I have no doubt in my mind that Captain Totzke’s insistence that I was a homosexual contributed not only to my father, master corporal Richard Gill’s treatment of me, but also contributed grossly to my sexual and gender confusion throughout my life.
I wasn’t a victim of P.S.
I wasn’t a victim of Captain McRae.
I was a homosexual who had allowed P.S. to stick his penis into my ass of my own free will. Sure, okay, I was only 7 and 8 and he was 14 when P.S. was abusing me, but that’s not the point, right?
I have a penis. P.S. has a penis. If I didn’t want P.S. to do to me what he did, then I just had to say for him to stop. But because I didn’t stand up to him and stop him from abusing me or from abusing my brother, I’m just as equally to blame.
When I was being examined by Earl’s defence counsel for discovery prior to the setting of Earl’s criminal trial date this is the line of argument that was used. It wasn’t that I was terrified of my father finding out that I was still engaged in “homosexual behaviour”. I willingly had sex with a man that was older than my father because I was gay, a homosexual, and I wanted to have sex with him.
It was even implied that the because I was over the age of consent that I had obviously consented to the abuse.
Even today things really haven’t much changed from back then.
If you have a penis and you’re being affected by abuse that occurred 40 years ago, you’re just being a melodramatic crybaby who simply won’t grow up.
The counselling available for men today basically consists of “manning up” and admitting that the abuse was nowhere near as bad as it could have been if you were a girl.
Look at it this way. A 30 year old male school teacher has sexual intercourse with a 15 year old female student and everyone is calling for the teacher’s head on a pike. A 30 year old female school teacher has sexual intercourse with a 15 year old male student and everyone is patting the student on the back for being such a lucky horn dog.
A 15 year old male student gets abused by his 30 year old male school teacher and he’s seen as a queer, a homo, a fag, or a cocksucker.
And in our society it really doesn’t seem to matter the age of the abused. If the victim has a penis they were obviously a very willing participant in the “homosexuality”.
I’ll have more to say on this starting Wednesday after my final examination by the defence counsel for the Commissionaires on Tuesday.
Now, of course I know that this is all bullshit. But I only started to realize this when I was in my 30s.
What didn’t help though was having Minister of National Defence Harjit Sajan call me a liar to my face insinuating that I “had an angle” and that I was “playing games”. You could see from the look in his eyes that he had absolute contempt for males that allowed themselves to be sexually abused.
Minister of National Defence Anita Anand hasn’t been much better. She’s only allowed sexual assault investigations involving women to be handed off to the outside civilian police agencies. She is allowing my investigation to stay with the CFNIS. She obviously shared the same mindset that Harjit Sajjan has, that males cannot be sexually abused, and even if they are, it’s not really a crime. The two investigators currently looking after my matter have said that when they go talk to the witness in this matter, that they’re going to tell the witness that if he talks to them that he will be subject to arrest for the Criminal Code offence of “child kidnapping”. These two really don’t want it discovered that at age 8 I gave a blow job to a major of the Canadian Armed Forces. Why should the reputation of the Canadian Armed Forces get smeared because I was a cocksucking homosexual at the age of 8?
And discovering in 2020 in the final report of the Military Police Complaints Commission report that the CFNIS in 2011 knew full well about the connection between P.S., Captain McRae, and that the investigation into Captain McRae was started because the military police in 19 fucking 80 knew damn well what P.S. had being doing with children between the ages of 5 and 10 on Canadian Forces Base Namao made me realize that male victims of child sexual abuse are not seen as victims, just “societal malcontents with axes to grind against the military*”.
And it’s this indifference towards the male victims of child sexual abuse in our fake, phoney, bullshit strewn, conformist, and hyper masculinized society that leads many victims of male child sexual abuse to kill themselves.
(* yes, in 2011 the CFNIS implied this when they interviewed another of the potential victims of P.S.)
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?
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.
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.
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?
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.
I’ve been conversing with the nice people at the BC Assistance in dying program.
As of this time I am talking with them anonymously due to the fact that I am associated with a health care facility and I don’t want any repercussions.
They’ve cleared up one matter that I wasn’t too clear about. I had also thought that the drugs required for death in the IV method would be administered by a set of dosing pumps. This is in fact not the case. The attending physician will manually inject the drugs one after the other.
And as I mentioned previously, I won’t have to go to a hospital or a clinic to obtain this procedure. I can go through with this procedure from the comfort and familiarity of my own bed.
Not that there is anything wrong with a hospital or a clinic, but being able to leave from familiar surroundings seems to be much more preferable to leaving from the strange and odd surroundings in a hospital or a clinic.
The process I wish to undergo involves four common drugs.
Each province in Canada has its own protocol for dealing with Medical Assistance in Dying.
This is the protocol used in British Columbia.
They three main drugs are Midazolam, Propofol, Roccuronium.
Lidocaine seems to be used as a painkiller.
Bupivacaine seems to be used to ensure cardiac arrest.
These drugs are used every day in health care.
And unlike for prisoner executions, the manufacturers of these drugs have not objected to their use for MAiD.
Prior to this date I will have to have undergone 3 different interviews with different psychologists and they will have to agree to allow me to undergo the procedure.
And as the date of the procedure approaches, my physician is supposed to ask me a few more times if I am certain that I wish to undergo a procedure that will result in my death.
And then on the day of my procedure, I will be asked a couple more times if I understand that I will die as a result of the procedure and if I wish to continue.
My last day is sure to be odd.
This would definitely be a day of “lasts”.
So far I’m planning to die in the evening.
Have a good breakfast. Go for a long walk. Maybe around the seawall. Might go for a bike ride.
Not sure what music I’d be listening to. Doesn’t matter really.
Go for a nice supper. Absolutely nothing too fancy, probably just the Old Spaghetti Factory, Earl’s, or even the White Spot.
Enjoy the nice long walk home.
I would arrange to be home in time to meet my physician.
While the physician is getting set up I’d be going to the washroom for the last time.
I’d also take my final shower.
I’m not sure if anyone else would be attending to watch me go.
Probably just me and the doc.
And then, when the time feels right I’d get into my bed for the very last time.
The doc would then ask me again if I understood what I was doing, and I would tell them that I understood.
The doc would then insert the main catheter as well as a “back up catheter”.
The first drug that would hit my system would be the midazolam. Midazolam is a sedative. At the recommended dosage it will not render me unconscious nor will it kill me. The midazolam will just relax me.
The next drug to enter my system will be the doozy. This is the drug that will pretty well turn my brain off like someone switching off a computer. Propofol is typically used prior to surgery to render a person into a very deep state of unconsciousness. However, in surgery the typical dosage for propofol is 2mg/kg. Meaning that the average human will receive 2 milligrams of propofol for every kilogram of body weight. I weigh 90 kg, so if I was being prepped for surgery I would receive a dose of 180 milligrams. However, because the goal of this procedure is my death, the recommended dosage that I will be given in 1,000 milligrams of propofol. At this level all brain activity will cease. I will no longer be me. I will be gone. The odds on my brain ever recovering from this dosage are none existent.
The next two drugs to be administered will be the rocuronium and then bupivacaine.
The rocuronium inhibits skeletal muscles. What this means is that my body would no longer be able to breath as my diaphragm muscle would become paralyzed.
And if bupivacaine is used as the fourth drug once the bupivacaine is injected it will stop my heart.
I don’t know if the lidocaine would be used or not, but if it is it really isn’t going to be that big of a deal.
As my brain will have been completely shut down by the propofol I will not experience any pain associated with the inability to breath nor will I be aware that my heart has stopped.
And that will be that.
After this there will be no more me. I will no longer exist.
And trust me, that’s a very small price to pay.
As I’ve said before, my existence is a very small and insignificant blip in the history of the known universe.
Whether I die in 2023, 2024, 2025, or even if I had lived to 70 or 80 years of age, on the cosmic time scale this is insignificant.
What is significant is the constant torment that my brain experiences on a daily basis.
Seemingly random things will slam me right back into P.S.’s bedroom on the day he was caught buggering me. Other things will transport me right back into the rectory of the base chapel when I was being given the tumbler full of “sickly sweet grape juice”. The baths that P.S. made me take with him so that he could try to get my rectum to loosen up so that he could fuck me still randomly pop into my brain. What P.S. did with the blonde haired girl are still in my mind. Watching P.S. do things to my brother will stay with me for life. The day my father was working on his motorcycle and I was watching him and P.S. came by and asked my father if he wanted him to look after me. My father told me to go with P.S.. P.S. took me straight to the chapel and into the rectory. There’s the man in the sauna that P.S. provided me to so that I could perform oral sex on this man.
The intense torment and abuse that I suffered at the hands of the kids on Canadian Forces Base Namao after I had been discovered in P.S.’s bedroom will live with me until I draw my last breath.
My sessions with “Terry” still pop into my mind at random, and it’s due to Terry that I am unable to sit down and deal with psychiatrists or psychologists. Put yourself into my shoes. You’re nine years old, you’re being dealt with by a military social worker who is convinced that you are showing signs of a mental illness called “homosexuality” because of what you and P.S. had been caught doing on CFB Namao.
The way in which my father blamed me for allowing P.S. to touch my younger brother will always be with me. The way in which my father blamed me for “fucking with his military career” will be with me until the day I die.
My father in general. My grandmother in general.
The diagnosed but untreated major depression that I’ve lived with since CFB Namao has cost me so much in life.
Earl Ray Stevens will always live with me until the day I die.
So will the unknown man from CFB Griesbach, and the unknown man from Toronto who tried to strangle me in his car.
Dreams that were taken away from me will always haunt me. I will never learn to fly an airplane. I will never fly a helicopter. I will never be what I wanted to be because after CFB Namao all I was told was that I was a worthless piece of shit. So there are no dreams or aspirations.
I just exist. I have no pleasures, I have no hobbies. I have mo dreams, I have no desires.
Talking about these matters doesn’t make them go away.
Not talking about these matters doesn’t make them go away.
Nothing will make them go away.
And if that’s what it takes, then nothing I will become.
The world will go on without me.
However, when I die, P.S. dies, Captain McRae dies again, Captain Terry Totzke dies, Richard Gill dies for a second time, all the people in the Canadian Forces chain of command that knew what happened from 1978 to 1980 they all die. Earl Ray Stevens dies again. And Al M. dies.
I find myself falling through the cracks even more in planning for my death
Well, just found out that the Douglas Brain Bank in Montreal isn’t interested in my brain.
Here I was thinking that someone with a traumatic background, who was diagnosed at a young age with Major Depression and Severe Anxiety, who survived into their 50s without any type of psychiatric help would have been of interest.
Apparently you have to live in Quebec to be considered for the donation program and you also have to have been in the care of a mental health professional prior to your death.
So, that rules me out.
The UBC body donation program only accepts cadavers that meet some undisclosed criteria. I’m going out on a limb here, but that will probably be bodies between 20 and 30, toned, muscular, below average BMI.
So, not only is medical science not interested in me while I’m living, but apparently my corpse isn’t worth shit to anyone after my death either.
And I’m beginning to put extra credence on something that Dr. T. my nurse practitioner has warned me about.
I may not actually qualify for M.A.i.D.
Sure, I was diagnosed at a young age with Major Depression and Severe Anxiety after 1-1/2 years of depraved sexual abuse on Canadian Forces Base Namao. Then I had to deal with 2 years of conversion therapy at the hands of the military social worker who was convinced that I was a homosexual because of the abuse. Plus further events of child sexual abuse. And neglect. And torment.
But this matters all for naught.
Being “functional” may prove to be my biggest undoing.
Because I didn’t see any mental health professionals between April of 1983 and the present day I’m obviously not tormented by depression, anxiety, or CPTDS.
Well, I did see mental health professionals , but they were mental health professionals provided by my employer, so they don’t count as I had to be very careful with what I told them so that I didn’t get my sorry ass fired.
Growing up in the military, living on military bases, and my father’s reactions to Captain Terry Totzke and Pat and Wayne taught me that mental health professionals, head shrinkers as he called them, were to be avoided.
My father taught me via slaps, backhands, and belts how to hide my depression and my anxiety. Well, not hide them, just internalize them where they’d eat me alive from inside.
When I grew up on the bases being mentally ill was just one step above being a child molester. In the 1980s you never, under any circumstance, let anyone on base know that you were having mental problems.
And it really doesn’t help that when I go to speak with counsellors, all I get are crystal clutching chakra chanting bobble heads that want to talk about my difficulties without talking about my difficulties.
And without any type of military trauma experience these crystal clutching chakra chanting assholes only make the problems worse.
Children didn’t live on military bases.
Children didn’t serve in the military
Children couldn’t be affected by military mental health issues because they weren’t in the military.
Children weren’t sexually abused in the military because soldiers would protect children.
Military dependents can’t have PTSD or CPTSD from events on base.
Child sexual abuse is a “learning experience” and nothing more than “childhood curiosity” and experimentation.
If something happened, the military police would have done something.
Now, getting military grade trauma counselling is out of the question as I don’t qualify. See, I’m not in the military and the Canadian Forces won’t pay for civilians to receive treatment. And as I’ve said fucking civilian counsellors are the goddamn worst. Sure, they mean good, but trying to bring these fuckers up to speed on what military life was like on the base is a major fucking downer. Too many of these counsellors learnt all they needed to know about military life on base from watching “Major Dad” on TV back in the 1980s.
“Bobbie, you’re being too hard on these people, they’re only trying to help”
Shit or get off the fucking pot.
Give me a fucking solution to my issues or stop fucking talking.
Tell me what to do, do give me some horseshit about “peering inside”
It’s that simple.
Tell me how to stop the fucking flashbacks from back then.
Tell me how to undo the fucking conversion therapy at the hands of Captain Terry Totzke.
Tell me how the fuck to undo 40 fucking years of living with untreated mental fucking illnesses.
Don’t tell me to love the fucking child inside – that’s the fucking quickest turnoff going.
Don’t call me a fucking warrior – I’m not a fucking warrior. I’m someone who had their fucking brain fucked with by people more concerned with keeping fucking secrets than helping me overcome the trauma.
Don’t fucking tell me that I should be happy that I wasn’t a girl because girls have a much harder time in life. I’ve lost count of the number of cocks and fingers I had inside my asshole before I turned 8, so fucking stuff that horseshit. Just because I’m male doesn’t mean that what happened on Canadian Forces Base Namao was any less traumatic or was just fucking “childhood curiosity and experimentation”.
You want to help me?
Help me fucking die.
Let me get my Medical Assistance in Dying so that I don’t have to live with this horseshit.
The time for fixing this crap was back in the early 1980s.
The Canadian Forces shat all over that idea.
So the only way to fix this now is to allow me to die a dignified death.
A death that will be recorded properly in the records as being due to psychological trauma due to childhood sexual abuse on a Canadian Armed Forces base.
Don’t force me to die by suicide where I get written down in some coroner’s ledger as being a suicide due to “unknown circumstances”.