One thing that I have realized is that people living in our society really don’t have as much control over their lives as people believe that they do.
For some reason people have more control over the lives of others that they do over their own.
I don’t remember being asked if I’d like to be born.
My parents were horny, they fucked, he ejaculated and didn’t pull out, and nine months later I popped out.
Did I ask to be born to two parents that were already suffering mental illnesses? My father battling depression and alcoholism, my mother suffering from anxiety.
Did I ask to be born to an alcoholic father?
Did I ask to be raised by a residential school survivor who had her own severe mental health issues?
And puhlease, don’t tell me that I should be happy that I was blessed with the miracle of life.
There’s over 7.8 billion people on the face of the planet.
Pregnancy, birth, and life are not a “miracle”.
And if your argument is that I should be happy that I don’t live in an underdeveloped country, well fuck you. I live in this country. I was raised in this country. I was abused by fellow citizens of this country. I was fucked over by institutions of this country. You don’t get to negate the shit I live through by erecting fanciful strawmen and bad faith fallacies.
Contrary to the teachings of Captain Terry Totzke and master corporal Richard Gill, I didn’t deserve the sexual abuse from Captain McRae and his teenage accomplice, P.S.
And contrary to the opinions of Captain Terry Totzke and my father, I didn’t deserve 2-1/2 years of conversion therapy.
I was a concious decision of Captain Totzke to deny my of the treatments I required for my mental health issues.
Sure, Totzke may have only been following the orders of his superiors. But he still made a decision. I had no say in the matter.
My father went along with the decision to deny me my treatment. Yeah, sure, Totzke outranked my father, but my father still had choices at his disposal. He made a choice to play along.
When my father had his meltdown in the PMQ on Canadian Forces Base Downsview in Ontario, somebody within the military police made the decision to not notify the Metropolitan Toronto Police Service thereby ensuring that Richard’s inability to control his anger wouldn’t be reported to the Children’s Aid Society of Toronto.
Somebody in the Canadian Forces chain of command made the conciousous decision to run a “dog & pony show” investigation in 2011. Somebody made this decision even though they knew full well that due to limited resources, only victims of crimes have access to mental heatlh treatments.
Somebody in the Canadian Forces chain of command made the conciousous decision to hide the information contained in the CFSIU DS 120-10-80 investigation paperwork from the Alberta Crown prosecutor in 2011 thereby forcing the Alberta Crown to make a horrific decision.
Somebody in the Canadian Forces chain of command decided to hide the existence of CFSIU DS 120-10-80 from the Military Police Complaints Commission in 2012 thereby ensuring that the MPCC wouldn’t discover until 2020 that the CFNIS in 2011 knew all about the criminal exploits of P.S..
Somebody in the Office of the Judge Advocate General made the decision to not allow the CFNIS to talk to former base commander Daniel Edward Munro in 2017 due to the inability to lay charges against Munro due to the 3-year-time-bar that existed only in the military prior to 1998.
So, as you can see, a lot of people made decisions for me or they made decisions that directly affected me.
Hopefully I get to make the one decision that I should be allowed to make, and that is to end my life through Medical Assistance in Dying.
And as my dentist is just doors down from my physician I booked two appointments.
The first appointment is for my prescription refil.
I get 90 days of pills at a time. So I always try to book an appoinment a couple of weeks before my meds run out.
Trust me. You do not want to run out of and stop your SSRI meds abruptly.
The second appointment is for my application for Medical Assistance in Dying.
The one thing that I did glean from the lunch seminar with Dying with Dignity is that M.A.i.D. assessors are expecting a spike in applications when M.A.i.D. is legalized for Mental Illness.
At the same time these M.A.i.D. assessors are expecting that the vast majority of requests for M.A.i.D. for Mental Illness will not be approved.
As much as I am worried about my application for M.A.i.D. not being approved, I think that I still stand a very good chance of having my request approved due to the very unique nature of my mental health issue.
I also had the chance to meet face to face with a former co-worker from our days at a bowling centre in Surrey.
I don’t think we’d seen each other face to face since back then.
We kept in touch on Facebook for a while, but then I nuked my Facebook account. She discovered a posting of mine on Instagram after I opened an Instagram account as required to get a Threads account.
It was a nice little lunch.
We talked about her new job in the probation office.
We talked about my job at the hospital.
We talked a bit about the past.
And then she asked about M.A.i.D.
So we talked a bit about M.A.i.D.
She had some good questions.
Hopefully I had some good answers.
After lunch was up I walked her back to the court house where her office is located.
I don’t think she had ever seen my blog before I opened an Instagram account, and I know for sure that she hadn’t seen anything about my plans for M.A.i.D. before my instagram account as I had never really talked about my desire for death until after I nuked my Facebook account a few years ago.
She wasn’t shocked by my desire. Especially after having read some of my blog.
And she was of the opinion that a decision like this is a personal choice and that no one has the right to question someone’s personal choice like this.
And this is what I like.
Listening to the media you’d swear that only 1 in 1,000,000 Canadians support Medical Assistance in Dying for Mental Illness.
But I think that the reality is that most level headed Canadians view M.A.i.D. for Mental Illness as solely a personal choice.
This is the type of response that I’ve encountered when trying to obtain help with the topic of child sexual abuse in the Canadian Armed Forces.
When I started off on this journey back in 2011 I was shortly thereafter given the name of a lawyer from Ontario who had experience taking on the Catholic Church and reaching settlements with the church to compensate the victims of child sexual abuse committed by members of the Catholic Clergy.
This lawyer wouldn’t commit to helping me in my matter.
Why not?
As it turns out he was a member of the Canadian Forces reserves.
I guess he didn’t want to make a bad name for himself in the reserves.
This wasn’t the only lawyer to balk at getting involved with thus matter.
There were three ex-jags who now practice military law in private practice.
Nope. Child sexual abuse in the Canadian Forces was something they were not getting themselves involved with.
Well, no one will ever convince me any differently now.
If I had a vagina between my legs and the other kids from CFB Namao had vaginas between their legs it’s very, very obvious that the CBC and most other Canadian media would have handled our story and the story of the more than 25 male children from Canadian Forces Base Namao a lot differently.
And as per Captain McRae’s court martial transcripts, and as per his signed confession during his ecclesiastical trial in front of the Archdiocese of Edmonton, Captain McRae molested kids not only on Canadian Forces Base Namao, but also on Canadian Forces Station Holberg, Canadian Forces Base Portage La Prairie, and Canadian Forces Base Kingston.
As it is, the CBC’s outright refusal to look at the events surrounding Captain Father Angus McRae and his 15 year old accomplice shows that the CBC doesn’t consider male child sexual assault to be as serious or as damaging as female sexual assault.
I’ve been dealing with the CBC since 2012.
The only person at the CBC to have shown the slightest in interest was Jenn Blair.
Jenn had a camera operator over to my place to record an interview.
What I didn’t know and what I hadn’t been told was that Jenn was temporary.
Shortly after the interview Jenn was replaced by Rachel Ward.
Rachel scrapped the entire interview. She had an idea. Her idea was that instead of a televised news story, my story could be told via a “timeline” that would be on the CBC Go Public website that people could click on if they were interested.
Rachel just wasn’t that interested.
I told Rachel about MP Randall Garrison, who was the co-chair of the Parliamentary Standing Committee on National Defence, and that he had agreed to ask Lt. Gen. Christine Whitecross during a Standing Committee hearing, who was responsible for investigating matters of child sexual abuse on the bases in Canada.
Rachel told me to call her as soon as I found out.
Randall’s office called me the moment the hearings had concluded to let me know that Randall had asked the question and that I needed to watch the video of the hearings.
Lt. Gen. Christine Whitecross said during the hearing that matters of child sexual abuse are always handed off to the outside civilian authorities. So why were the Canadian Forces National Investigations Service and the Provost Marshal so hellbent on retaining a 35 year old child sexual abuse matter?
So, as per Rachel’s instructions I called her. Got a message saying that the subscriber hadn’t set up their voicemail. I called the Calgary office number that she had called me from. No answer, no voice mail. So I dialled some random numbers by changing the last two digits. End up getting some guy from a video booth. He couldn’t say that he had heard of Rachel, but he checked the internal directory for me. Nope, her name wasn’t showing up. He ended up transferring me to a woman who said she thought that Rachel worked out of the Calgary studio, but that she didn’t really have a landline.
Rachel called a few days later in a huff wanting to know what was so important. I told her that Randall had asked the question about jurisdiction of the military police for child sexual abuse matter and that Lt. Gen. Christine Whitecross had said that the the military police always hand child sexual abuse matters to the outside civilian authorities.
“Look, just because he said that is what she said doesn’t mean that is what she actually said”.
I told her that this was an official session of the Standing Committee on National Defence, that it had been video recorded, and that it was available to view on Parliament’s website.
“I’m busy with other stories right now, I can’t just drop everything that I’m doing to deal with your story”.
I didn’t want to believe it at the time, but I do believe it now.
Had I had a vagina between my legs, the media would have been tripping over themselves to look at child sexual abuse on the Canadian Forces Bases in Canada.
As it is, I have a penis between my legs. And everyone knows, especially the CBC, that people with penises between their legs can’t be sexually abused, they can only be sexual abusers. Because a person with a penis between their legs can’t get pregnant from a sexual assault it’s not really a sexual assault, now is it?
It’s just like what Captain Terry Totzke said to me back in 1980. An 8 year old boy being penetrated by a 15 year old boy and also being abused by a 50 something year old military chaplain happened because I had a mental illness called “homosexuality”. If I didn’t have “homosexuality”, then it wouldn’t have happened.
Realizing that Canadian media was not ever going to be interested in this story I contacted the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists (ICIJ)
The ICIJ put me in contact with a member named Frederic Zalac.
Frederic as it turned out is a reporter with the CBC.
Not interested in the slightest. No criminal charges. I didn’t have the names of the other victims.
And now I have 100% irrefutable proof that the CBC deals with sexual assaults differently depending on the junk between a victim’s legs.
“CBC Investigates”.
Well fuck me gently.
The CBC told me time and time again that without criminal charges, there would be no story. That without statements from other victims willing to go on camera, there would be no story. That I had to find the other victims.
Well, in my case the military justice system wasn’t able to find any evidence to indicate the babysitter was capable of what I accused him of. This even though as it turns out the CFNIS in 2011 had the 1980 CFSIU investigation paperwork and the 1980 Court Martial transcripts that indicate that it was very well known by the base military police, the CFSIU, and the court martial panel, what the babysitter had been doing to young children on base and that it was this molestation of young children on the base that resulted in the prosecution of Captain McRae.
Could the military police be in conflict of interest?
Two retired Supreme Court of Canada justices seem to think so.
An initial investigation…… The CBC had the ability to track a victim down without even knowing their name, but the CBC tells me they can’t investigate my story because tracking names isn’t their job.
Bobbie, unless the other victims are willing to go on the record, this story isn’t going to go too far.
I guess that women are more delicate than men and that men in today’s “macho” society are supposed to be okay with having their names associated with what was until recently considered to be “acts of homosexuality”.
Yep, that’s what it was called back in 1980 when a 50 something year old officer of the Canadian Armed Forces and his teenaged accomplice are investigated for sexually assaulting young prepubescent boys. “Acts of homosexuality”. That’s why I got my conversion therapy from Captain Totzke. That’s why Captain Totzke was adamant that I was a homosexual.
I know where the man who was not only my babysitter, but who was also the accomplice who took me to the chapel to be abused by captain McRae, and who subsequently pimped me out to some random stranger in the sauna at the base swimming pool. He lives in Fort Erie Ontario.
The man who was my primary abuser has a extensive criminal record involving children: 1982 – charged and convicted for molesting a young boy north of CFB Petawawa 1984 – charged and convicted for molesting an 8 year old boy around CFB Winnipeg. 1985 – charge and convicted for molesting a 9 year old boy on CFB Namao and a 13 year old newspaper boy in the west side of Edmonton. 1986 – 2000 Various charges from Buggery to Assault and Robbery. 2015 – 2x sexual assault, 1X forcible confinement
But Bobbie, we can’t just contact this guy and make accusations against him! That wouldn’t be right!
According to retired warrant officer Frederic R. Cunningham, “the brass” wouldn’t allow the Canadian Forces Special Investigation unit nor the Canadian Forces Military Police to call in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police to deal with the babysitter. In May of 1980 the investigators with the CFSIU were told to lie about the age of the babysitter and record that he was only 12 years old. The babysitter was born on June 20th, 1965.
I wasn’t “slut shamed”. I was “homosexual shamed”. I received 2-1/2 years of conversion therapy from Captain Terry Totzke for the homosexuality I had exhibited when I frequently had sex with the babysitter.
Yes, for the 1 millionth time, I understand that CFAO 19-20 would not have applied directly to me as I was not a member of the Canadian Armed Forces. However, my social worker, military officer Captain Terry Totzke would have been very well aware of this. His training as provided by the Canadian Forces would have trained him and instructed him that males having sexual intercourse with other males was wrong and was ultimately a sign of an underlying mental illness. The fact that I was an 8 year old boy with nary a hair between his legs didn’t make a difference. I had allowed a boy twice my age, and on more than one occasion , to put his fingers and his penis into my ass. It doesn’t get more homosexual than that.
I met a couple of other victims via the face book groups. But most people who had a rough life growing up on base stay away from the base brat groups. If it wasn’t for me wanting to seek justice for what had happened on CFB Namao from 1978 until 1980 and then on CFB Griesbach from 1980 until 1983 I never would have joined facebook.
Advocating for change within the defence community is a non-starter as the defence community won’t even acknowledge this. In 2016 during a meeting with then Minister of National Defence Harjit Sajjan, Minister Sajjan accused me of “playing games” and “having an angle” insinuating that I was just trying to score some easy money from the military.
I had sent communications to current Minister of National Defence Anita Anand. I’ve never received any response. Not even after the Military Police Complaints Commission released their report in 2020 that found ample evidence that the CFNIS in 2011 knew about the babysitter’s criminal history on CFB Namao as the CFNIS had the 1980 CFSIU and 1980 Court Martial transcripts.
There is no support available for former former military dependants who were sexually abused on base and then fucked over by the defective military justice system. The DND and the CAF have no legal obligations to military dependents living on defence establishments, no matter the source of their injuries.
Civilian support services just roll their eyes when you try to explain what happened on the bases. The provinces in general consider what happened on base to be a federal matter, not a provincial matter.
An investigative podcast and two feature stories, man I wish I was this lucky.
People often wonder if I really want to undergo M.A.i.D.. or if I’m just claiming to want to do so as a means of getting attention.
I grew up in a dysfunctional military family in which my father used his postings to stay one step ahead of provincial social services.
I was sexually abused for 1-1/2 years starting at age 7.
From age 9 to age 11 I received what amounted to “conversion therapy” from a Canadian Forces military social worker.
As this social worker was a captain and my father was a master corporal my father placed special emphasis on what this social worker had to say.
I was raised by a grandmother who had survived Indian residential school and had the emotional damage and the alcoholism that came with having gone through Indian Residential School.
My father was just as emotionally damaged as his mother and was a piss-tank alcoholic just like his mother.
My father, unable and unwilling to accept responsibility for his two sons being sexually abused in his house while being raised by his own mother blamed me instead for the abuse my younger brother went through.
Even though just months after the abuse came to a screeching halt I had been diagnosed with major depression, severe anxiety, haphephobia, and an intense fear of men, Captain Totzke never seemed to follow through with treatments for me.
According to my social service records, when Alberta Social Services wanted to pull me from my father’s home and place me into residential care or foster care, Captain Totzke appears to have helped with my father obtaining a posting out of the jurisdiction of Alberta.
I was left to suffer all alone for all of these years with gender confusion, fear of sex, fear of men, untreated major depression, untreated severe anxiety, haphephobia, etc.
Yes, I really do want to undergo M.A.i.D..
There’s nothing left to fix.
I’m tired, my brain is burnt out, and it really is time to go.
“Bobbie, it looks like you’ve done it, it looks like you’re winning!”
Nope.
The one thing that I can assure you is that there will be no winners in this matter.
Everyone associated with this matter is a loser in the sense that they’ve lost.
40 years of enduring a lifetime of self doubt and self hatred and untreated mental illnesses doesn’t suddenly disappear the instant that the Government decides to consider offering compensation to the former child victims that were denied justice and proper medical attention all those years ago.
I along with most of the other childhood victims of Captain McRae and his teenage accomplice PS lost our childhoods and our innocence on Canadian Forces Base Namao.
Some of us lost our sanity and our identities when we were dealt with by the military social workers.
Some of us lost our families when the military’s attitude towards the victims of sexual assault was unleashed within the walls of the PMQs that we lived in on base.
Some of us lost our lives through suicide. Some of us are still yet to lose our lives through Medical Assistance in Dying.
We, the numerous victims of Captain McRae and his teenage accomplice, have all collectively lost our ability to ever receive justice in this matter due to nothing more than decisions made at National Defence Head Quarters in Ottawa.
Current and former members of the Canadian Armed Forces, if they have any integrity, will have lost respect for the Canadian Armed Forces knowing that the Canadian Armed Forces actively and intentionally denied justice to victims of child sexual abuse.
Current and former members of the Canadian Armed Forces who became involved with this matter and carried out the desire by the Brass at National Defence Head Quarters to keep this matter hidden in the past have lost any claim of integrity that they once may have had.
Retired members of the Canadian Armed Forces who have enjoyed a retired life of accolades for a service well rendered have lost any respect they may have had over their involvement with the Captain Father Angus McRae child sexual abuse scandal in 1980.
Captain McRae’s accomplice, PS, has lost his designation as Captain McRae’s sole victim and has lost his ability to claim to have been an “innocent angel”.
The Canadian Forces National Investigation Service has lost any pretence of integrity that it may have had when it tried so desperately to portray the victims of Captain McRae and McRae’s teenage accomplice as”money grubbing” “societal malcontents with axes to grind against the military” contrary to the contents of documents already in the possession of the CFNIS during the time of the investigation.
The Provost Marshal lost any claim to impartiality that it had when it refused to release the 1980 CFSIU DS-120-10-80 investigation paperwork to the Military Police Complaints Commission in 2012 when I made my complaint against the CFNIS for a substandard investigation in 2011.
The Office of the Canadian Forces Ombudsman has lost any claim to relevance it had when it outright refused to conduct an inquiry into the handling of Child Sexual Abuse investigations by the Provost Marshal and the CFNIS while knowing full well that the CFNIS was found to be completely unable to conduct any manner of sexual assault investigation by two independent retired Supreme Court of Canada justices.
The Office of the Minister of National Defence has lost any claim to integrity that it may have once had when it allowed the personal opinions of the individual Ministers to cast doubt upon the veracity and integrity of the victims of military child sexual abuse.
Everybody is a loser in this matter.
Some have lost more than others.
Some will still lose even more.
Regardless, absolutely no one has won in this matter.
Okay, so I can only say this from my perspective, but this is what depression feels like for me.
I don’t feel like I am good at anything. If someone as stupid as I am can figure something out, then everyone else should be able to as well, right?
Yes, I have a very low self esteem. And what makes it worse is when people congratulate me for my accomplishments as they’re obviously just saying nice things to make me shut up, right?
There are a lot of projects that I don’t undertake at work as I know that I am too stupid to get them done. And if they do by some miracle get done, my mind tells me that they won’t be liked, or that they will fail.
Sleeping. I sleep a lot. I always have. I’m sure that constantly waking up with night terrors or in a panic doesn’t help. But even in periods when I am able to sleep without these interruptions I still don’t like waking up or getting out of bed. I get home from work, I sleep. I hate getting out of bed in the morning. It’s not that my bed is nice and warm and I find it too seductive to get out of. I just don’t have any reason to get out of bed. There is no drive.
The most I’ve slept was on a vacation a few years ago. I spent almost 14 days in bed getting out just for food and the bathroom. No movies, mo music, no nothing. Just sleeping and going off to dream land.
I am habitually late for work. I always have been. Being late for work is nothing new. But most employers I’ve worked for have been more than willing to overlook my tardiness as the skills I bring are valuable to them.
Even when I was a kid, getting up and out of bed was a fucking chore.
And that didn’t change at all. into adulthood.
In the early years just after I moved out of the house in 1987, I would often sleep for days.
And just this past weekend I slept through Saturday and Sunday.
Making and keeping friends with untreated depression and untreated anxiety if fucking hopeless. You don’t feel the need to call your friends because you just know that you’re going to bother them or disturb them. And when they call you, they’re often calling in the middle of a depression cycle. And then when no one calls the anxiety kicks in and convinces you that no one likes you and they’re all avoiding you because you’re beyond worthless and they’re only being your “friend” because they’re either using you for a skill that you have, or they just feel sorry for you.
Why didn’t I get help instead of letting my depression progress for so long without treatment?
For starters, I didn’t know that I had been diagnosed with Major Depression in November of 1980 until I received my social service paperwork in August of 2011. When I was having issues with my depression between age 9 and age 16, my father’s way of helping me with my “piss poor fucking attitude” was backhands, slaps, spankings, etc.
I received my first medical card and medical insurance when I started working for the Elashi family in East Richmond in 1994. There was a Carepoint medical clinic in the plaza that the Elashi’s owned. I would go to the clinic to get help with my inability to sleep. Remember, I didn’t know that 14 years prior I had been diagnosed with Major Depression. The doctor and I were certain that I only had a sleep disorder. Looking back, the pills that I had been prescribed could also used for treating depression.
And at that point in time I would never have considered myself to be depressed. My father had drilled into my head that I was just a fucking lazy arsehole that often acted up for fucking attention and who often pretended to be smarter than he actually was.
So no, there was no seeking help for depression. My father, and even “Terry” had suggested that I was just suffering from a mental illness called homosexuality.
And at this time I was nowhere near ready to deal with my implied “homosexuality”. I wasn’t really ready to consider myself a homosexual. It’s just that both Terry and my father insisted that I was one and that why I messed around with the babysitter on Canadian Forces Base Namao.
I couldn’t dare be open with the doctor. What if I said something to him that allowed him to figure out that I was a homosexual that had sex with his babysitter? Or worse ye, what if the doctor discovered that because of my homosexuality I had allowed the babysitter to molest my younger brother.
So no, there was no getting help with my depression, or my anxiety, or my haphephobia. Or my sexual identity / gender confusion.
If both Terry and my father said that I was a homosexual, then surely I must be a homosexual. Yes, my brother swears that he never heard my father refer to me as “gay”, but it’s not like Richard and Terry needed my brother’s permission.
This assignment of my sexual orientation by my father and by Terry as a result of my 1-1/2 years of sexual abuse on Canadian Forces Base Namao by Captain Father Angus McRae and his teenaged accomplice probably did nothing to help me deal with my depression.
And being confused about my orientation didn’t help my depression either.
What else didn’t help with my depression? Haphephobia. The fear of being touched. Fuck do I ever hate being touched, especially unexpectedly. I really hate being touched in a sexual manner. One of the guys at work one put his hand on my shoulder from behind. I twisted away from him. He thought that this was funny so he tried it again. I did not think that this was funny. And I’ve had this haphephobia since the days of CFB Namao. How can a person have relationships if they don’t know their orientation, and they don’t like being touched. This in and of itself will feed depression.
My brain is often numb. It’s a weird sensation. It feels like my brain is stuffed with cotton. It’s very hard to concentrate. I often lose my train of thought if someone says something to me when I am not expecting interruptions.
Oh, and did I mention to you that I was diagnosed as having a notable “Auditory Memory” problem? Yeah, I’ve got tricks to work around this. First is don’t fucking call me on the telephone. Text me, email me, don’t call me. Want me to order something for you, fill out one of these handy dandy parts request forms. Auditory memory issues also ensure great fun with depression.
The funny thing about the auditory memory issue is that when Alberta Social Services wanted to remove me from the home and place me into foster care or residential care as a means to force my father to comply with the family counselling program, Richard himself pulled out the paperwork detailing this auditory memory issue as a cause of my problems in school. Yet in 2011 he didn’t tell the CFNIS about this auditory memory issue nor our involvement with Alberta Social Services or the fact that I was in the foster care system. And, he used to get pissed off and physical with me on CFB Griesbach and CFB Downsview if I forgot to do something that he told me to do or if I didn’t understand what he had told me.
So, as you can see, I’ve had my fair share of mental health issues that were diagnosed, but that were left untreated, hidden, and ignored.
I suffered with these matters all of my life.
And these issues are part of the reason I want MAiD.
MAiD is the only way for me to finally be freed from these issues.
My desire for MAiD isn’t a rash decision.
It’s the result of a very slow moving train that’s been gathering speed for the last 40+ years.
Okay, still waiting to hear whether or not Parliament will ask the Senate to agree to delaying the implementation of Medical Assistance in Dying for reasons of Mental Health.
So in the meantime I’m still proceeding as if March 17th, 2023 is the date that M.A.i.D. for reasons of Mental Health is allowed to proceed.
To that end I’m still planning out the arrangements for the disposal of my body.
I’ve come to the conclusion that cremation would be the easiest method to plan for. And by opting for cremation I can plan for a “one stop shopping” experience.
I’ve been in contact with a few funeral homes in the lower mainland. These homes have allowed the M.A.i.D. procedure to be carried out on their premises. They typically have a room set-up and nicely furnished where a person can undergo the procedure in the company of their close friends and family.
Once the procedure has been completed and the person is legally pronounced deceased the body is usually then prepared for disposal whether it be by burial or by cremation. And usually the funeral that the M.A.i.D. procedure occurs at will deal with the cremation or the burial.
I had wanted a green burial. Just my body in a shroud in a hole in the ground left to decompose the way bodies have done since time immemorial. The problem that I ran into with this desire is that there aren’t many cemeteries between Vancouver and Hope that allow for bodies to be buried without a casket and without a cement grave liner.
So, cremation it is.
And this really simplifies things.
I arrive at the funeral home. Get into bed. Undergo the procedure. Pass away peacefully. Be officially declared as deceased. Then my corpse is loaded into the cremator. I’m incinerated. My bone fragments and other ash residue are pulverized into a fine powder. The my ashes as put into a little plastic bag and the placed inside a container.
And that’s it.
My funeral arranger will look after filing for the required death certificate and other papers.
Except for my legacy at work and my legacy of being one of 25 children fucked up by Captain McRae and the Canadian Armed Forces, it will be as if I never existed.
The universe will continue on as if I was never here.
Within one generation I will have been forgotten like so many others that have led solitary lives.
And that’s fine.
I will finally be free of my daemons, all of my mental illnesses, all of the horrors and memories that torment me, and all of the issues that were gifted to me by my dysfunctional household, by my molester Captain Father Angus McRae and his teenage accomplice, and the mind fucking I endured at the hands of my military social worker, Captain Terry Totzke.
None of these will plague me anymore once my brain is dead.
And honestly, it’s not like I’m going to be angry or upset about being dead. I’ll be dead. Matters of the living will no longer be of ant concern to me as I will no longer exist.
All I have to do is to make sure that I remember M.A.i.D. first, cremator second. I don’t think going into the cremator alive would be too enjoyable.
One of the hard things about putting these videos together is I’m so fucking numb to what happened, how it was dealt with or more importantly how it wasn’t dealt with that it no longer really means anything to me.
But still I need to talk about it because this was such a major part of my life during my formative years and it had such a profound impact on who I am.
This isn’t a track and field meet that I lost. This isn’t a goal that I didn’t score in an overtime period in junior hockey. This shit destroyed my world.
Anyways, I’ll have a new video by tomorrow, I’ve had a couple of things swimming around inside of my skull.
Okay, here’s a video on depression and what I went through in the aftermath of the Captain Father Angus McRae Child Sexual Abuse Scandal on Canadian Forces Base Namao
Beeshive 