Category: Medical Assistance in dying

Power Engineering

I’m a 4th class power engineer. I started off as a 5th class power engineer back in 2002.

Power engineering isn’t what I wanted, but it was what as available to me if I wanted to finally get away from wages that had me just treading above welfare.

I was working for a property management firm in Vancouver at the time doing building maintenance. Pump repairs, chiller maintenance, building automation, etc.

I wasn’t trade qualified and I didn’t have a red seal. But what I had was an ability to read and comprehend service manuals and parts diagrams. I could read schematics and I understood electrical safety.

So, if I didn’t want to be a power engineer, why am I a power engineer.

As I’ve alluded to previously, my father didn’t give a shit about school. To my father my teachers and principals were all stunned cunts, stupid fucking cocksuckers, and fucking assholes. My teachers were forever sticking their noses into his fucking business. They were calling him at work and disturbing him. My academic problems were obviously caused by their fucking inability to teach.

When I left school at the start of grade nine, he didn’t give a fuck in the slightest. I just had to pay him $100.00 per month to stay in my room, otherwise I’d have to move out. Which I did in the winter of 1988.

Even if I had stayed in school, trade school, college, or even university would have not been options for me.

As I would discover later in life, Richard joined the Royal Canadian Navy in 1963 with a low mark grade 9 education which he had to upgrade before the RCN would admit him in 1963.

He sailed the world, he learned trade skills, he learned to fly aircraft.

Not bad for a prairie boy from a one room school house in Fort McMurray, AB.

He did all of this without a university education, nor a college degree, nor any type of trade school.

Even though I have my grade 12 GED, I’ve always downplayed what that means.

Before I was allowed to apply for the 5th class power engineer program at BCIT I was required to take a couple of tests to prove that my mathematical skills were at least at the grade 10 level.

I passed my 5th class power engineering course.

Called and let Richard know.

Didn’t give a fuck in the slightest.

I accumulated sufficient time as a 5th class power engineer to challenge the 4th class power engineer provincial exam.

I passed that with ease.

Called Richard and let him know.

Just like the last time, he didn’t give a fuck.

In September of 2005 I was hired at the physical plant at the hospital and I called Richard to let him know.

Absolutely didn’t give a fuck. He didn’t need a union in the Canadian Forces so why the hell do I need a union? He then said that I was still dumber than my younger brother who he was sure was making more money than I was and he worked in a “cardboard box factory” making more money doing far less. So it was obvious that I wasn’t the smart one.

This is what led to me leaving all of the messages with Richard in August of 2006.

Now, to be honest, power engineering has provided me with employment at a wage that wouldn’t normally be available to a “loser” like me.

So, what is a power engineer?

A power engineer is someone who has been granted a certificate of competency to operate and be in charge of a refrigeration plant or a steam plant / heating plant of up to a specific heat exchanger surface areas.

This includes inspecting the entire plant once per day, minor maintenance, adjustment of equipment, checking fluid levels, maintaining chemical levels, and ensuring that the equipment is operating at peak performance in a safe manner.

In the hospital this also involves responding to fire alarms, conducting elevator extractions, testing the generators and fire pumps, diagnosing minor refrigeration issues, filter changes on the supply fans.

And in 2019 I was promoted to chief engineer.

I go well far above and beyond what a power engineer is required to do.

Don’t forget, power engineers have a “certificate of competency”, not a “trade qualification” or an “inter-provincial red seal”.

I can troubleshoot the building automation system down to component level. I’ve installed networked temperature monitoring equipment for logging the temperatures of medical and pharmaceutical refrigeration.
I upgraded the chemical monitoring systems for all of the cooling towers.
I was responsible for having all of the major supply fans converted from variable pitch mechanisms over to fixed pitch hubs with variable speed drives.
I was responsible for replacing close to 60 older pneumatic HVAC mixing boxes in the laboratory area with newer electronic mixing boxes.
I put in the current fuel monitoring system that automatically calls in the refuelling company when certain fuel levels are attained.
I pushed to have the four main cooling tower replaced in 2016 when after 25 years of neglect the old towers were a liability to the hospital.
I just finished the upgrade of the building automation system in Phase 1 Level 4 to replace the old Honeywell Excel Plus system that could no longer be serviced.
I implemented tablets for rounds and readings software.
I implemented the Angus mobile software for the aforementioned tablets for tracking of work orders.

So, why don’t I feel happy?

I’ve known for a very long time that this isn’t the line of work that I wanted to be in. And I don’t mean being the chief engineer at work. I mean being in hands on mechanical / electronics type work.

The key to this was in my social service records.

“When asked why Robert likes computers and electronics, he said that he wants to learn this so he can be closer to his father”

Fuck was I ever a damn idiot back then.

At work I find that playing stupid is the best way. Most of the power engineers that I supervise have no mechanical, electrical, or electronic skills. And one thing that I’ve had to learn in life is that if someone doesn’t have a mechanical intuition they will never learn mechanics. If I need something done I either do it myself or I contract it out.

I liken a power engineering certificate to a driver’s licence.

A driver’s licence states that you are qualified to operate a motor vehicle. A driver’s licence does not vouch for the mechanical aptitude of the car driver. Some car drivers can drop their own blocks and rebuild the big end and press a new oil seal, while some car drivers can’t even top up their own windshield washer fluid without nearly killing themselves.

With power engineering it’s the same thing.
Some power engineers know how to weld.
Some know how to wire electric motors.
Some know how to press bearings onto shafts.
Some can understand digital logic, and understand control signal and feedback while other power engineers can’t even bring up task manager on Windows or know how to check for +15, -15, +24, +5, and -5 volts on a connector that is clearly labeled.

But Bobbie, if you don’t like this stuff, why do you keep doing it?

Simple.

As a kid I tried to win my father’s affection, which as it turns out was a lost cause.

When I moved out of the house when I was 16, I had two things going for me. My mechanical intuition and my skills in electronics.

These two abilities ensured that I had employment when otherwise I would have probably endured a life on the streets with my grade 8 education and my mental illnesses.

I scratched and clawed my way up through industries that I never should have worked for but they were willing to overlook my mental issues and my lack of formal education in trade for putting my mechanical and electronic skills to use.

What could I have been if Richard had just given the slightest of a fuck (and if CFB Namao hadn’t occurred)?

I liked theatre and play production at school. At Elia Jr. High and at Pierre Laporte Jr. High I worked on lighting for plays and I did sound setup and sound mixing. Pretty well the same thing at Pierre Laporte. I did sound and lighting for school productions. I repaired the old 20 channel dimming panel. Needed a whole bunch of new trials to replace the ones that had burnt out due to shorts in the fixtures.

Theatrics would have been interesting.

Theatrics would have cost a shit ton of money to get into and a lot of support from home, so realistically theatrics would never have been an option.

Working on cars? Nope, I’ve always hated cars. I’ve owned cars for 7 years of my 35 years of holding a driver’s licence.

So, I go to work everyday.

What else am I going to do?

Am I going to quit my job and retire after I win mad-mad-money in my class action? Fuck no. If I walk away with $30k from that whole fiasco I will be greatly surprised. This is the Government of Canada that I’m dealing with, not the Catholic Church.

But Bobbie…… lots of people hate their jobs.

Well, lots of people love their jobs.

Anyways…….. until next posting.

When no one believes.

Well, it looks as if one of the aspects of the CFB Namao child sexual abuse scandal that the DOJ and the DND aren’t willing to look after is the psychological harm done to the victims of Captain Father Angus McRae and his teenaged accomplice.

And I’m not referring to the psychological harm done as a direct result of the sexual abuse. I’m talking about the psychological malpractice that came from being dealt with by military social workers.

It’s very clear from my involvement with the military social worker that his goal was to keep the civilian authorities from discovering what had occurred on Canadian Forces Base Namao from 1978 until 1980.

How many other kids were dealt with by military social workers in the aftermath of the Captain Father Angus McRae child sexual abuse scandal?

No one knows.

I’ve tried to retrieve my medical records from Captain Terry Totzke, but the Department of National Defence says that these records cannot be found unless I myself tell DND where these records currently are and who currently has them.

If it wasn’t for my Alberta Social Service records and my Children’s Aid Society of Toronto records, I would never have know that I had been in the care of military social workers in Alberta and in Ontario.

And no doubt there are others like me.

Others who were dealt with by the military social workers.

Others who were blamed by the military social workers for wanting what happened.

Other who were blamed for their younger siblings having been abused by the babysitter and Captain McRae.

How many kids from Canadian Forces Base Namao went on to commit suicide?

Not only as a result of the sexual abuse in a military environment that viewed such abuse as nothing more than homosexuality.

How many kids involved with the CFB Namao child sexual abuse scandal went on to commit suicide due to their involvement with the military social workers and their serving parent’s refusal to disobey the directions of the military social workers.

The DOJ and the DND will do anything to keep the public from ever discovering that not only were children sexually abused on military bases, but children were often mindfucked and gaslit by the military.

This means that my application for M.A.i.D. is going to be one hell of a battle.

One of the complication my nurse practitioner says that I might still face in my request for Medical Assistance in Dying is that I haven’t sought or participated in treatment for my mental illnesses.

In May of 2021 I had to take time off from work. I was in crisis. The stress of dealing with my past along with the stress of dealing with a major hospital that was trying to become COVID proof using ventilation systems that were designed long before viruses like SARS or COVID pushed me over the edge.

I went to see a psychiatrists at Vancouver General Hospital at their Access and Assessment Program.

I had a talk with one of the psychiatrists.

As I listed off to him what I was going through and what I had been through, I could see his eyes glaze over. He must have literally been wondering what fucking rock I crawled out from under and why I wasn’t wearing my tinfoil hat.

It’s the same look I’ve had from counsellors and psychiatrists before.

A look of complete disbelief.

A look that says that they think I am unloading 100 percent horseshit on them.

Military child sexual abuse?

Get the fuck outta here!

Military hiding child sexual abuse?

Get the fuck outta here!

Children with Military Social Workers?

Get the fuck outta here!

Children being gaslit by military social workers into believing that they’re to blame for being sexually abused?

Get the fuck outta here!

So yeah, it’s hard to get help when those offering the help don’t believe 1/10th of what you’re telling them.

And it’s absolutely maddening to think that I won’t be able to obtain M.A.i.D. because everyone who should have helped instead wanted to pass me off as some tinfoil hat lunatic.

So, it looks like I might be left with taking care of things by myself.

But that’s the way it has always been all of my life.

The effects of military child sexual abuse

One thing that has often come up is “Bobbie, why didn’t you tell someone”

The thing is, I didn’t have to tell anyone.

All of the people in positions of authority knew.

Captain Terry Totzke knew.

My father knew.

Base Commander Colonel Daniel Edward Munro knew.

Base Security officer Captain David Pilling knew.

The office of the Judge Advocate General knew.

Everyone knew.

What was I supposed to do?

Some may argue that I need to forgive my father. Sure, he was only a master corporal. But the silly fucker could have grown a pair of balls even if that meant leaving the Canadian Armed Forces.

But he didn’t.

Instead, I received 2-1/2 years of punishment / conversion therapy at the hands of Captain Terry Totzke. So, in my matter it wasn’t that no one knew. Everyone knew. And people who had the ability to make things better for me instead punished me.

How many other male military dependents from Canadian Forces Base Namao received the same treatment that I did. How many male military dependents from the other bases that Captain Angus McRae was stationed at received the same treatment that I received on Canadian Forces Base Namao?

This is important as even my lawyer indicates that the shame of male sexual abuse may prevent other victims of Captain McRae and his “agents” from coming forward.

How many other victims have come forward over the years only to have their matters dismissed by the military police due to flaws in the National Defence Act that would make it impossible to lay charges in the modern day for any act that occurred prior to 1998?

How many other victims tried to come forward over the years but had no support from their parents who were serving members of the Canadian Forces at the time of the abuse due to their serving parent’s fear of violating the Security of Information Act and the Official Secrets Act that both prohibit anyone who became aware of “information” on a Defence Establishment while they were subject to the Code of Service Discipline from ever disclosing that information.

Member of the Canadian Armed Forces are subject to the Security of Information Act and the Official Secrets Act for life.

And the Official Secrets Act and the Security of Information Act don’t specify what this “information” is. Those act just state “any information”.

Top Secret? Doesn’t say.

Classified? Doesn’t say.

Nor do these acts make exceptions for criminal investigations.

And there’s also the spectre that serving parents in the Canadian Forces were promised favours in trade for their silence and for not making a fuss.

Might explain how Richard came to forget about the existence of his own mother when he gave a statement to the CFNIS in 2011. But then again, the CFNIS never re-interviewed me for clarification about grandma or what home life was like in 1978 through 1980 after Richard gave them his very revised and edited version of home in July of 2011.

Two options about Richard’s statement.

(a) – He lied to the CFNIS in 2011 because in May to June of 1980 he took favours from the Canadian Forces in trade for him not making a fuss out of the events on CFB Namao.

(b) – The CFNIS reminded him that he was still bound by the Official Secrets Act or the Security of Information Act and that he should think very carefully before discussing any information that was directly related to the Canadian Forces and events on Canadian Forces Base Namao.

And if Richard lied about CFB Namao, how many other former members of the Canadian Armed Forces have lied in order to cover up their complicity in their own children having been sexually abused on a Department of National Defence / Canadian Armed Forces military base?

There is no way that I am the only one who suffered through this shit.

March 17, 2023

March 17th 2023 was supposed to be the date that Medical Assistance in Dying became legal in Canada for those suffering from mental health issues.

I had already booked the weeks of March 20th and March 27th off.

I had already booked my appointment for March 21st with my family doctor to make my official request for Medical Assistance in Dying.

I booked additional time off from work as I theorized that I would probably require some time to acclimatize to my decision. After all, wanting to die and actually making concrete plans to die are two separate things.

Sadly, the religious nutcases in this country evoked nightmares of disabled people being hauled off to Cambodian style killing fields.

And of course our milquetoast politicians caved.

That’s to be expected seeing as how the right wing in this country are having their puppet strings yanked and manipulated by the MAGAt evangelical crowd south of the border where their imaginary friend gets off on pain and suffering.

Anyways, in the meantime I’ve got to deal with an additional year on this planet.

I asked my lawyers recently if as part of the pending class action settlement that language be added into the settlement that would request the Attorney General make exceptions to the current M.A.i.D. legislation that would allow me to obtain M.A.i.D. without having to wait for the government to grow a pair and legalize M.A.i.D. for reasons of mental health.

They both said that this couldn’t be added in to the class action as it would have to apply to all members of the settlement and that this more than likely wouldn’t be something that the courts would entertain.

One of my lawyers suggested that I might want to look at other options to obtain M.A.i.D. via tests and screenings to see if any type of cancer or other potentially fatal medical condition is currently manifesting itself in my body.

My father apparently died of cancer. My father’s brother died of heart disease. My paternal grandmother died of heart disease as well. My mother has had numerous aneurysms. My maternal grandfather died of a heart attack. I’ve had two cardiac issues and no one was able to figure out what caused them.

So, when I go to my doctor on the 21st, even though I can’t officially request M.A.i.D. as we had both agreed at a prior visit, I will mention the suggestion of my lawyer to my doctor to see if he’s game for this.

Either way, I’ve got a train trip coming up.

No. Not that type of train trip.

On the 24th I’m boarding a VIA train for an 8 day round trip to and back from Toronto.

This was one of those “bucket list” things I had started planning out last year. There’s a few things I wanna do before I go. And things like trips are something that I want to experience.

I know it sounds silly, but with the exception of a few trips to Seattle, I’ve never been outside of Canada. I’ve lived in Vancouver for 30 years now and I’ve been to Seattle maybe 6 times in all that time.

And even within Canada, the only time I traveled anywhere in Canada was when I went to Ottawa to do some research at Library and Archives Canada. I also stopped out in Halifax, Nova Scotia. I was born there, but other than popping out into the world in Halifax, I have no connection to Halifax as my birth in Halifax was an accident of birth. I could have been born in any hospital next to a Canadian Armed Forces base and that would have been my “home town”.

Travelling was never something my father did with us when we were kids. The one time we went to Banff when my father was stationed at Canadian Forces Base Griesbach was not very pleasant as Richard wasn’t the kind of person who could just chill and fucking relax on a vacation.

When we lived on Canadian Forces Base Downsview in Ontario, Richard took us for a weekend trip up to Sue’s brother’s cottage on Georgian Bay. Again, not a fun weekend. Fun and fuckery were not words in Richard’s vocabulary. The only word that Richard knew that was even remotely related to “fun” was dys’fun’ctional.

So, I never developed the travel bug.

Never learnt how to go on vacation and just relax.

So, this train ride should prove interesting. 4 days to Toronto. I spend one night in Toronto. And then it’s 4 days back to Vancouver.

Didn’t book a private room. I got a sleeping berth. The car has showers. All meals provided. Access to the observation car, the coach car, and the dining car.

Why did I pick the train? Why not. As I’ve said I don’t do vacations. For me the travelling part is more entertaining than the journey.

Taking Amtrak back and forth between Seattle and Vancouver is enjoyable. When I go to Seattle there’s only a few places that I like to go. Other than that I skip all of the tourist traps. I don’t think that I could ever go somewhere to go to tourist traps.

When I go to Iceland this summer it’s so that I can see for myself what was so appealing about Iceland that Richard left my brother and I alone while he fucked off with the Canadian Armed Forces to Iceland in July of 1978. Other than that it’s a big expansive island. And it’s the summer solstice. So being that far north on the longest day of the year should prove to be interesting. The only interesting thing that I know of Iceland is that the island is made up from two separate continents crushing together. There’s apparently a fissure that splits the island in two.

Death

What does death feel like?

Nothing actually. Death feels like nothing. You have to be alive to experience and feel.

Can you remember what it was like before you were conceived? The universe has existed for about 13.7 billion years.

Do you remember any of that?

No?

Well, death is the exact same.

Without a functioning brain, you cannot have a consciousness, you cannot feel, you cannot experience.

You are dead.

To be dead is to be at peace.

The dead have no memories.

The dead have no trauma.

The dead have no fears, no phobias, no mental health issues, no self hatred, no self loathing, no low self esteem.

Why do people fear death so much?

Well, death is the only thing that the human brain has never experienced. The human brain is terrified of the unknown. The human brain likes to have the answers. And if it can’t have the answers, then it creates the answer. See “gods” for an example of this phenomenon.

This is why humans have spent so much effort to convince themselves that there is a life after death. There isn’t. This life is all you get. There will be no other.

Humans like to think of themselves as individuals, each unique in their own special way. But we’re not. What is so special about humans is that we can transcend death not by living after our death, but by passing on our knowledge to the next generation. It is our knowledge that transcends death while our corpse rots and festers.

I am comfortable with my death.

I know that my experiences will live on long after I have been put to sleep.

Yes, I am afraid of dying. But this is more due to the fear of potential pain or of the procedure being botched.

But death, death I welcome it. My death will settle my anxiety and my death will release me from the grips of my depression.

My death will forever erase the memories of the babysitter and of Captain McRae. My death will remove from me the memories of my sexual, physical, and mental abuse at the hands of the various persons who were supposed to be looking after me, caring for me, and keeping me safe from harm.

Am I sad that I see death as my only option?

No.

Death is all around us. Try as we might to pretend that death does not exist, it does.

And life is not as valuable and unique as we’d like to pretend that it is.

America has already had 35 mass shootings in less than 23 days of the year so far. But reducing the death toll by implementing gun control would be to much for the 2A supporters to endure.

Car culture in Canada has killed 45,582 people between 2001 and 2020. Changes could easily be made to reduce this death toll, but this would inconvenience car drivers.

In the 10 year period of 2008 until 2018, there were 6,102 deaths by suicide in the province of British Columbia.

These figures don’t include deaths due to illnesses, or any other means.

And as of this writing there are well over 7,888,000,000 people existing on the face of the Earth. We’re not unique.

Is my life unique?

No.

Is my life special?

No.

Is my life enjoyable?

No.

Will my life ever be free from the turmoil and grief that was bestowed upon me by others?

No.

My time has come.

I am tired.

I should be allowed to leave when I want.

I should be allowed to leave via a painless method administered by a professional who is trained to properly induce death in a compassionate manner.

Death cannot hurt me any worse than what I’ve endured.

In fact, death can release me from the pain and the torment.

What does depression feel like?

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.

A little change in my plans

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.

January 7th, 2023

Here’s my latest video.

January 2nd 2023

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.

‘Til next time.

The time of settlements

First, a new video.

On November 7th and 8th my first lawyer and I will have a meeting with the lawyers in the matter of Earl Ray Stevens. This meeting is to see if all sides can reach a final agreement on the matter of an “out of court” settlement.

I don’t know what to expect with this meeting. The lawyer for the defendant in this matter has postulated that by the time Earl Ray Stevens abused me at the Denison Armouries when I was in cadets that I was already “damaged” from the abuse on Canadian Forces Base Namao. He even seemed to have honed in on items from my foster care records that I wasn’t even aware of.

One such thing that he honed in on came about because my lawyer had requested a fresh copy of my foster care records from the Alberta government at the start of this matter. I had never seen the quoted text that the lawyer for the defendant read during the meeting because this was redacted from the copy of the records I had obtained in 2011.

In this formerly redacted section my father had told the psychologist hired by the Canadian Armed Forces in November of 1980 that he blamed my behaviour and the behaviour of my brother on his mother, specifically stating this “his mother was frequently cruel to his children, especially when she was inebriated”.

This by the way is the same mother that Richard wrote out of our family history when he gave his statement to the CFNIS in 2011.

So I’ll have to see what the future holds so far as this settlement goes.

I received an interesting telephone call from my other lawyer on Friday. It seems that the Department of Justice is curious to whether or not I would entertain the possibility of an out of court settlement. As this matter is a class action this would affect all members of the class. we don’t have anything to lose on this.

The DOJ and DND may insist that if we take the out of court settlement that we’d have to agree to be bound by an NDA. This is something that I would have to discuss with my lawyer.

That said, an out of court settlement in the Captain McRae matter from Canadian Forces Base Namao would resolve the matter in a fairly quick time unlike the 10 to 15 years that the DOJ had warned me they would drag this matter out for.

Questions that I would have are would there be any payments towards the families of the victims of Captain McRae and his 14 year old accomplice who committed suicide over the years as a result of the abuse and the failure of DND and the CF to look after the victims properly?

Would all of the surviving victims receive equal payments?

Would DND and the CF reveal the names of all of the children involved and ensure that these victims are made aware of the cash settlement being offered?

Would I be gagged by a Non-Disclosure Agreement much like the 14 year old accomplice agreed to in December of 2008?

I sure those details will be worked out.

The one thing that settlements in both matters allows be to do is to obtain medical assistance in dying in much my original time frame.

It was always my intention to die either in 2023 or 2024.

By going with settlements in both matters I can now rest assured that I won’t be spending the next 10 to 15 years dealing with this crap.

If I apply for medical assistance in dying on March 20th, 2023, it will probably take about 4 to 6 months for me to undergo the psychiatric review that would be required.

There would be a 90 day “cooling-off period”.

Then I would be given my prescription for medical assistance in dying. From what I understand the prescription would be valid for up to one year.

This would put my death into 2024. I’m okay with that. I’ve suffered 40 years so far, another year or two isn’t going to kill me.

Anyways, enough for now.

It’s bed time.