Some truths about M.A.i.D.

“Has he been on pharmaceuticals all his life to control his emotions”?
-NO-
“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”?

-no-

“has he ended up in hospital due to previous suicide attempts”?

-no-

“Has he been going to non-stop therapy since 1980”?

-no-

“Has he been on pharmaceuticals all his life to control his emotions”?

-no-

“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 heard from a friend, who heard it from a friend, who heard if from a friend……
blah, fucking blah, fucking blah.
The “Anti- M.A.i.D.” crowd sounds like a Faberge commercial from the ’80s
Some random Assisted Living home that doesn’t have a name is just up and killing its patient population.

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?

https://beta.ctvnews.ca/national/health/2022/4/26/1_5877288.amp.html

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.

Escitalopram.

The pros and cons of messing with my mind.

So, I’ve been on escitalopram for seven months now.

It has been both a blessing and a curse.

It looks like escitalopram will be with me for the rest of my life.

The pros are:

  • Far less depression. It’s not that I am happy. It’s that my emotions are completely blunted. And trust me, blunting is better than nothing.
  • My anxiety has been turned down. I can still feel the anxiety, but it doesn’t destroy me like it did before.
  • Disrupted trains of thoughts don’t cause headaches or nausea.

The cons are:

  • Disturbed sleep patterns.
  • Day long sleepiness.
  • Acne the likes of which I haven’t seen since I was a teen.
  • A general sense of ennui.
  • Weight gain.
  • Loss of appetite.
  • Can’t orgasm, but sex has never been a major deal breaker in my life.

So far, the benefits of escitalopram outweigh the negatives.

No. The escitalopram hasn’t caused increased thoughts of suicide or suicidal ideations.

But it also hasn’t taken away my desire to die.

The one thing that I have realized, and that you’re going to have to realize, is that the 40 years of untreated depression and anxiety have done some long term damage to my brain. And I’m okay with that. Not that the damage was done to my brain, but the fact that my brain is damaged.

40 years is a very long time to go without treatment.

So here I am, riding out the last few years of my life, and writing about it as I go.

By March of 2023 year we should know what the Parliamentary committee will recommend for guidelines for those wishing to apply for Medical Assistance in Dying for Mental Health issues.

After that I’ll have to apply. This will probably consist of convincing 3 psychologists that I am of sound mind in making this choice.

Just recently my N.P. has realized that I am serious. He’s the one who set me up with the escitalopram. I guess that he was hoping that the escitalopram would fix things for me. But it hasn’t. It can’t.

No matter how often my father passed my issues off as being nothing more than my attempts at attracting attention. They weren’t.

Just because my father chose to ignore my issues, and refused to get me timely treatment, doesn’t make his opinion that I was just making things up any more valid than the diagnoses that I had been given early in life.

The fact that my father loved to blame my issues on my mother and her “insane brothers” doesn’t make what I’ve suffered for the last 40 years a trivial matter.

If my father and Captain Totzke had allowed the ticking time bombs of depression, anxiety, and CPTSD to have been diffused all those years ago things would have worked out completely different.

Time machines do not exist. There is no going back into the past to undo things.

Again, to be very clear, wanting to die is nothing new. My wish to die has been with me since CFB Namao.

No one can live through that type of shit and not want to die.

I know of two men who died by suicide as a result of the CFB Namao affair. And as I’ve only met a few people who were affected by the CFB Namao affair, I have no idea how many others have ever tried suicide or have ever succeeded at suicide.

And I know of many more men who have committed suicide later in life, even after they have received “justice” for what they endured.

Bobbie, you just need some hobbies.

No. No I don’t. Hobbies won’t stop the memories of CFB Namao or my treatment at the hands of Captain Terry Totzke from popping up.

Cycling! You love to ride your bicycle. Yes, yes I do love riding my bicycle. However I can’t ride my bicycle 24 hours a day seven days a week.

Electronics! Take a course in electronics. I never really liked electronics. Learning electronics was one way that I thought that I could get closer to my ever distant father. That was a bad strategy.

Cars! You loved cars! You owned a car! Actually I’ve always been terrified of cars. I hate being in cars. I got a membership at the base autoclub on Canadian Forces Base Downsview as I thought that my father and I could spend time together at the base auto club. Again, another one of my very wrong ideas.

I really hated the idea of working on other people’s cars after the night my brother and his buddy Greg brought a 6 cylinder Chevy up to Bob Beckers workshop with the idea that I could make the car run again after Greg and his buddies had pulled all the plugs, the wires, the distributor and other things off the engine.

I forget who all was there. There was my brother, Greg, an older guy in his 40s named Dom, and two older teens that had to be about 19 or 20.

Greg at the time was no small kid. Even though Greg and my brother were both younger than I was, both were physically larger than me in both mass and height. My brother at the time was so large that my father wouldn’t dare raise a hand to him.

Two thing about that night really pissed me off.

The first was that I moved Bob’s van outside so that Greg and his buddies could push the car in. When Bob’s van was outside someone just happened to steal Bob’s mobile phone from the van. Fuck was Bob ever pissed with me. And no, it wasn’t some rando walking by that stole the mobile phone.

The second thing that pissed me off was that even though I told Greg that I hadn’t worked on anything other than 4 cylinder Volkwagen engines, he was going with what my brother had told him, that I could work on anything and that if I didn’t fix his engine it was because I was being selfish and stuck up and a self centred asshole.

Greg and his buddies ended up taking the car away that evening.

Greg and his buddies caught up with me a few days later.

They beat the sweet fucking jesus out of me in the parking lot of the laundromat on Keele street. All I really remember about that night is two of Greg’s friends holding me down while Greg stomped on my head. I could barely walk after. I headed over to Billy Bee donuts on Wilson Ave. The owner of the donut shop wanted me to go to the hospital to get looked at seeing as how my eyes were getting bloodshot.

But yeah, that’s one of the reasons that I will never work on anyone’s car for any reason. And there are similar reasons as to why I don’t fix any thing electronic anymore or why I don’t really do much with computers.

Falling through the cracks again.

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.

Nope.

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.

I hated this fucking TV show.

“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”.

Understand the difference?

My Brain.

Yes, as fucked up as it is, it still fascinates me.

I am hoping that after I die that my brain is removed and sent off to one of the many institutions in Canada that study human brains to try and decipher mental illness and addictions.

I’ve suffered from major depression and anxiety for the majority of my life. I endured sexual assaults for over 1-1/2 years. I endured what would be tantamount to “conversion therapy”. I endured more sexual assaults before I turned 16. I grew up in a dysfunctional household.

So my brain should be interesting.

What I have always found to be very interesting is that I am not addicted to anything. Nor am I living on the streets.

Where I work, we have various programs to help addicts. One of the things that becomes apparent to me is that addiction and mental illness go hand in hand.

I’d say that most of the clients of these programs started off with mental illness first, found themselves on the streets, and then ended up with addictions.

It’s stunning how many mentally ill people are just discarded by society like trash.

The problem there I think is that unless you’re talking to the chinaware or unless you believe that everyone is a lizard person from the future out to kidnap you no one believes that you’re mentally ill.

My father would often rail on to no end that “my moods could be whatever I wanted them to be” and that “I was just doing this to get his attention”. And there are a lot of people like my father in the world. People who believe that mental illness is a scam, that people who claim to be mentally ill are liars, that people with depression are just weak wimpy cry babies who want to take the easy way out.

But even if you are one of the “lucky ones” with a “real” mental illness, you too are at an elevated risk of being tossed to the street when those close to you get tired of your “drama” and your “bullshit”.

At an early age I found myself with mental illness, diagnosed but untreated mental illness.

I found myself homeless for a number of months for most of 1992 and then the early part of 1994.

For the first few years of my adult life, I was always one or two pay cheques away from losing it all.

Help from home was out of the question, so I knew even better than to ask.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months at the Catholic Charities men’s hostel numerous of my fellow bunk mates would offer drugs. Wasn’t interested. Didn’t want drugs. Didn’t want booze.

I didn’t consider myself superior to my bunk mates. I just wasn’t tied up in making friends with them.

Maybe my inability to make friends actually saved me from a life of addiction. Nobody becomes addicted on their own. There is always an enabler involved.

I was flagged by social services both in Alberta and Ontario as not having the ability to make friends or to associate with others. Also, I really despised being touched. And that is still the way things are to this day. Don’t touch me.

To tell you the truth, I just find it so hard to trust people. I’m not paranoid. I think that after CFB Namao and CFB Griesbach, I just learnt that there was no one there for me, that I was always going to be on my own.

If you ask my brother, he’ll tell you that I was just a stuck up little asshole who thought himself better than anyone else. But that’s not my brother talking. That’s Richard speaking. Richard had a million and one opinions on my mental health issues, none of them helpful.

But yeah, I assure you that I wasn’t “stuck up”.

So was it the inability to form friendships that allowed me to stay off drugs?

My self worth has always been lower than shit, so it’s not that I considered myself too good for drugs.

So there has to be something else going on in my brain. Something that researchers may find of interest.

I haven’t cried since I was about 30. I’m too emotionally numb on the inside to cry anymore.

I used to cry a lot trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong with my brain and why I couldn’t fit in no matter how hard I tried and why I was always susceptible to days on end of feeling completely unmotivated and unable to think.

Employers were always impressed with my technical skills and my dedication to work, but I just lacked the “people skills” to deal with people therefore I was always going to be the guy behind the scenes who just wasn’t presentable to the public.

At the time I didn’t have access to my Foster Care records from the Alberta Government so I had absolutely no idea that I had already been diagnosed with depression and anxiety so bad that I was supposed to have been institutionalized.

I wouldn’t get my hands on those records until August of 2011. Almost 30 years after the fact. 30 years I was allowed to participate in society as some sort of experiment to see if I would succeed or fail.

And no, there was no going to “head shrinkers” or talking to a doctor about my issues. Not after my experiences with Terry and my father and the various psychologists that I had seen while we lived on Canadian Forces Base Griesbach from October 1980 until April 1983.

The fact that Terry and my father would both get me to say lies and bullshit to my civilian counsellors means that I don’t think that I could ever be honest with these people. My emotions and my inner turmoil were always something that I was taught to be ashamed of and to hide behind a wall of lies.

My father had told me during those years that I was making up all of my problems, that I was only “acting up” to get attention.

With no family support, no professional support, no community supports, here I am at 50 years of age.

My brain is fried and burnt out.

I don’t really have anything much to offer other than my brain for research.

The brain is a fascinating organ.

It is who we are. It is what we are.

It’s where our thoughts, our memories, and our dreams live and die.

The more researchers learn about the brain, the more it becomes apparent that it functions similar to a computer in the sense that it has specialized portions of the brain that do specific tasks.

I view my brain as a biological computer with over 250,000 years of innovation behind it. I view myself as the operating system. Unfortunately my operating system was corrupted by various hacks over the years that led to irreparable hardware damage.

Sure, there are patches that could sorta maybe kinda work, but an operating system that is held together by patches is unstable.

That’s one of the reasons I have no issue facing my death. As long as my brain is rendered unconscious and is denied oxygen I won’t experience my death. It will literally be like turning off the power switch on your computer. A power switch that can never be turned back on.

Still, it is very interesting how the brain processes information.

One thing that I’ve always found interesting is that you don’t actually live in the real world. Yes you and your body are present in the real world, but what your consciousness “sees”, “hears”,”tastes”, “touches”, and “smells” is AFTER the various cortexes have processed the information presented to them. What you are experiencing are the outputs of your cortexes. This is why hallucinations and dreams can appear so lifelike and vivid. The brain can’t tell the difference. To it everything is real.

But this apparently is the best way for the brain to function because if your brain had to process the raw information from your senses by itself without the automated processes of the cortexes your brain would become severely overwhelmed.

For instance how the brain processes visual information. One part of the visual cortex looks for shapes, another part isolates written languages or symbols even if we’ve never seen that language or symbol before, another part looks for faces and the emotions on those faces, another part looks for movements, and yet another part uses our stereo vision to calculate distances between objects. Our brains rely on contrast between light and dark for depth perception, even though we see in colour. We perceive all of these processes happening all at once. But they’re being processed by different parts of the visual cortex.

Car makers know that the visual cortex can be easily manipulated to elicit emotions. This is why car makers now spend so much time putting anthropomorphic features on to car and truck grilles and head lights. By making the car or truck appear happy or angry they can sell vehicles to people based upon their primary emotion.

Our hearing has many different sub processes as well. One part of the auditory cortex is listening for speech. One part has something similar to a comb-filter that is designed to be sensitive to certain frequencies. One part seems to love music. Another part gets triggered by rhythm. A different part of the auditory cortex is used to pinpoint the location of a sound in 3-dimensions even though we only have two ears. I was diagnosed at a young age with an auditory memory problem. And it’s true. I have a very hard time remembering things that are verbally told to me in a specific sequence. However I can easily remember written phrases, concepts, and details. This is one of the reasons I don’t do telephone calls unless I absolutely have to.

Then there’s the interconnection between all of these different processes. Your steady eyesight comes because the inner ear also coordinates your eye movement so that as your head moves your eyes are able to move in a direction to counter the movement of your head. Without this communication you eyesight would be very blurry.

Your ability to turn your head in the direction of a sound comes from the ability of your auditory cortex to direct your head muscles and your eye muscles towards the direction of the sound.

Your visual cortex processes you central vision and your peripheral vision in two different process, but presents this to your brain as one image. You visual cortex fills in the blind spot in each of your eyes with made up data so that you don’t see two black spots in your vision. These black spots are where your optic nerve connects to your retina. You can’t see there. Your peripheral vision sucks at detail, but it is really great at detecting motion. Your peripheral vision can direct your eyeballs and your head into the direction of motion.

Your ability to listen to music on headphones without constantly turning your head in every direction is because your auditory system has realized that what you are hearing is not a threat.

Emotions are another interesting part of the brain. Your brain can control its emotions by releasing or not releasing certain chemicals. And it has been discovered that your brain can damage itself if it releases to many of these chemicals for a prolonged period, or doesn’t release enough chemicals for a prolonged period.

Sadly, when these chemicals go out of whack, the brain often isn’t able to bring itself back to “normal” without external help. The longer the brain is without help, the more substantial the damage will be.

So yes, you can suffer actual physical brain damage due to traumatic events such as emotional trauma, psychological trauma, or physical trauma.

The brain is plastic in the sense that it can try to overcome the damage by using different portions of the brain.

I’ve never seen the actual removal of a human brain from the skull during an autopsy, but there are hundreds of autopsy videos available on the net. And I’ve seen quite a few. All you really need to remember is that the body is dead and feels no pain.

Once the skull is removed and then the dura mater is cut open, the brain is ripe for the picking so to say. Gently tilt the brain outwards from the skull, sever the olfactory nerves, the optic nerves, the facial nerves, the auditory nerves, the neck and throat nerves, and the spinal cord, and out pops your brain. Do Not Try This At Home, especially not on yourself.

It’s a good thing that you’re typically dead when this happens otherwise might be a little on the painful side. Plus might also cause a panic attack.

Now, I don’t know what exactly can be learnt from my brain. Probably nothing substantial. But maybe something incremental. And incremental would be far better than nothing, eh?

I would imagine that having a somewhat fresh brain would be beneficial to the researchers.

I would much rather prefer that my brain go to somewhere where it can be of some use rather than just tossed into an unmarked grave, or a crematorium, or a resomation chamber.

Then at least my suffering will be over and something beneficial will have come of my life.

And I’ll be able to say that “I’m going to medical school!”

I really wish that I could donate my skull to whomever I wanted to.

I have a few people in mind that I would love to give my skull to.

The Canadian Forces and the crime of Homosexuality

How the Canadian Forces attitude towards homosexuals affected their investigation of Captain Father Angus McRae and his victims.

Prior to 1994 the Canadian Armed Forces had a policy against homosexuals in the military. This was enforced by Canadian Forces Administrative Order CFAO 19-20. I’ve been told by others that this policy would have had no effect on military dependents living on Canadian Forces Bases as we weren’t subject to the Code of Service Discipline.

That may be true, but the attitude towards homosexuals was an official policy, and every service member in the Canadian Forces would have been exposed to this policy and the reasoning behind this policy.

No father in the Canadian Armed Forces would obviously wanted a mentally ill homosexual living in their house.

What this means is that every person living on a Canadian Forces Base, whether they be a service member or a military dependent, was exposed to the horrific treatments that CFAO 19-20 enabled.

The investigation of Captain McRae was commenced in mid-May 1980 after the base military police interviewed Peter due to numerous complaints made against him by other parents of children living on the base.

This was confirmed to me by retired Canadian Forces Warrant Officer Frederick R. Cunningham on November 27th, 2011.

According to Peter’s father Jack, two military police officers came to Jack’s PMQ and questioned Peter in the kitchen. Peter quickly told Sgt. Mossman and Sgt. Clark about Captain Father Angus McRae.

This was confirmed to me when Sgt. Tenaschuk read to me the contents of CFSIU DS 120-10-80 before I requested my own copy from DND in an Access to Information Request.

May 12th 1980 is when base security officer Captain David Pilling
requested the CFSIU investigate Captain McRae for “Acts of Homosexuality”.
Item #2 makes clear what Captain Pilling wanted Captain McRae investigated for.

How much of a hangup did the Canadian Armed Forces have on “homosexuality”?

As you can see from the gallery above “homosexuality” gets mentioned quite frequently. Not seen anywhere in these documents is “sexually abuse” or “sexually assault”. The word “victims” only shows up twice in the entire court martial.

The Canadian Armed Forces considered the children that Captain McRae was plying with beer and wine to be “homosexuals” as well.

None of us were victims.

We were all willing participants.

We were all homosexuals.

The 54 year old padre, the 14 year old altar boy / babysitter, and all of their victims.

We were ALL homosexuals in the eyes of the Canadian Armed Forces.

This is why I was involved with Captain Terry Totzke for 2-1/2 years from age 9 to age 11.

He didn’t care in the least that my home was dysfunctional, or that I was suffering from major depression or severe anxiety. He obviously didn’t care in the least that my father took no responsibility for his own family and always blamed others for the issues with his family.

No, Captain Totzke was concerned that I had shown signs of being a homosexual on CFB Namao and that homosexuality was a mental illness.

I wonder how many other kids from CFB Namao were involved with military social workers who were convinced that they were not victims of a 54 year old officer in the Canadian Armed Forces, but were instead homosexuals.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I have absolutely nothing against homosexuals. I even considered myself to be one. Now, knowing what I know about the past, I consider myself to be nothing. Captain Totzke and his “therapy” took any orientation I may have had away from me. But it pisses me off to no extent that the Canadian Armed Forces were so willing to pass off “child sexual abuse” as “homosexuality”.

It upsets me to think that the Canadian Armed Forces thought that the best way to help me get over the events of CFB Namao was to accuse me of being a homosexual when I was 8 years old.

And I can only wonder how many of the other victims of Captain McRae would go on to commit suicide or attempt suicide over the years.

What comes after this?

That’s the big question, isn’t it?

What comes after this life. For as long as humans have been able to question what the future holds humans have obviously wondered what happens after death.

No one has survived death.

Yes, there are those who have “come back” from “death” but upon closer examination they were declared dead before they actually were. As no human has ever survived death, living humans have no idea of what happens after death and decomposition.

I honestly don’t believe that anything happens. Other than irreversible decomposition.

Who you are goes away when your brain dies.

There’s no magical kingdom in the sky where everyone goes and hangs out with their best buddies from high school.

There’s no burning pit of fire for those who go against the wishes of the magical sky daddy.

The human brain is very inquisitive. It has an innate need for knowledge.

And when the human brain can’t come up with answer that satisfies its thirst for knowledge, it has a tendency to make up answers that quenched this thirst. God. Heaven. Angels. Hell.

Humans created god.

Humans created heaven.

Humans created angels.

Humans created hell.

Humans created the afterlife because the human brain can not comprehend its non-existence after its death.

At least that’s my take on it.

And it only makes sense really.

The human brain spends almost the entirety of its existence learning, and observing, and calculating, and dreaming, and plotting, and scheming.

It can create beautiful wonders out of nothing, it can take basic minerals and make electronic devices that border on absolute magic. The human brain has launched probes into space that are still communicating with the Earth as they pass through the heliosphere.

The human brain can create music, and numbers, and mathematical formulas, and spoken language, and written language, and poetry, and literature.

So for the brain to be able to do all of this, and then at the end simply die and turn into a congealed blob of fat cells and dead neurones indistinguishable from the dead nerves in the body’s feet is quite insulting and unimaginable for the brain.

Hence why we have an afterlife. Our brain needs the afterlife. Even though the afterlife doesn’t exist, our brain still needs it to exist. Lulling itself into a false sense of security with the fairytale of an afterlife allows the brain to function on a daily basis without going insane at the prospect of realizing that it’s all for naught.

My Father’s Statement to the CFNIS

” In the end Senua,
it isn’t the gods that cause us so much suffering,
but those closest to us.”

In 2013 when I showed my brother our father’s statement that he gave to the CFNIS 2011 my brother wasn’t sure what to say.

My brother said that I needed to give Richard the benefit of doubt. He said that the Canadian Forces or the CFNIS might have “leaned” on Richard to get him to state what he did.

Might be some truth to this. I know that Fred Cunningham was terrified of speaking to the CFNIS in 2016 and would only speak to the CFNIS “off the record” and without notes. Kinda an odd request for a former military police officer. But hey, what do I know?

And it’s true that the CFNIS did have the court martial transcripts and the CFSIU investigation paperwork from the 1980 Captain Father McRae fiasco. And yes, in 2011 the CFNIS, the Provost Marshal, and the JAG obviously realized the liability problem this posed for the Canadian Forces if Richard had identified P.S. as my babysitter. So yes, as my brother said, there was the motive for the CFNIS to “lean” on Richard to get him to say what the CFNIS wanted him to say.

But having my social service records from Nova Scotia, PEI, Alberta, and Toronto I know that Richard had issues. And Richard wasn’t averse to throwing people under the train to make himself look good.

Let’s look at his “Will Say” statement.

Statement taken from my father, Richard Gill, by Master Corporal Christian Cyr and Master Corporal Jodrey on June 9th, 2011 at 13:50.

a) We lived on CFB Namao from August 1978 until October 1980. We lived on CFB Griesbach from October 1980 until April of 1983.

b) Richard had my address. He also had my phone number.

c) This telephone conversation occurred in August of 2006. Richard named the babysitter by himself, pleaded with me to understand that it was his mother that hired the babysitter, that he had nothing to do with it.

d) At various times that we lived on CFB Griesbach and on CFB Downsview, Richard would remind me that my brother was “out of control” because of what I let the babysitter / P.S. do to my younger brother.

e) Yes, I attended the Guthrie school on CFB Namao, and the Major General Griesbach School on CFB Griesbach, but Richard seems to forget to mention that I was transferred to the Westfield program for emotionally disturbed children in June of 1982 when he signed the paperwork admitting me into the Alberta Foster Care system.

g) Due to creative wording, it is made to sound as if Grandma only stayed with us for a very short time on CFB Namao. Grandma lived with us pretty well for the entire time that we lived on CFB Summerside. She was with us from 1977 until 1978. She moved back to Edmonton in the spring of 1978. In July of 1978 Richard received a compassionate posting from Captain Lynda Tyrell at CFB Summerside to move to CFB Namao. Grandma lived with us for the entire time we lived on CFB Namao. Grandma lived with us until the summer of 1981 on CFB Griesbach. Richard would drop us off with Grandma over the weekends from the summer of 1981 until we moved from Edmonton in April of 1983. Richard’s step father, Roy William Anderson didn’t die until 1983.

h) As Richard said to me in August of 2006, “HE” didn’t hire the babysitter. Grandma hired the babysitter. The babysitter molesting my brother and I was grandma’s fault, not his. He warned grandma not to hire the babysitter, but she wouldn’t listen to him. There were times that grandma didn’t have the money to pay the babysitter, so he had too. Also very convenient that he can’t remember the address or the names of the people he’d trust to look after his kids.

g) I actually met one of my childhood friends from CFB Shearwater. She was the daughter of the kindergarten teacher at Hampton Grey Memorial. Jennifer was my main playmate on CFB Shearwater. As it turns out, Jennifer’s mother was the kindergarten teacher. If I had been any trouble at all I would never have been allowed to play with Jennifer. On Summerside Richard was rarely home after I started grade 1.

h) is very interesting. When I examined Richard for Federal Court in 2013, I asked him if he remembered who Captain Terry Totzke was. Richard replied that he had never heard of this name. Captain Totzke is the military social worker that I became involved with on CFB Griesbach just after our arrival. Captain Totzke sent Richard, my brother, and I to a psychiatrist for evaluation. I was found to be terrified of men, I was certain that my father was going to kill me, I didn’t like being touched, and I was found to be well beyond depressed and suffering from anxiety. My father was found to accept no responsibility for his family, blamed others for problems with his family, expected others to solve problems with his family.
Captain Totzke was more concerned with the homosexuality that I had exhibited on CFB Namao when I was discovered being buggered by the 15 year old babysitter. Captain Totzke said that I had a mental illness, and that was homosexuality.
In November of 1981 our teachers and principal at Major General Griesbach School were so concerned with the inaction of Captain Totzke in regard to my brother and I that they called in Alberta Social Service.

i) I have never called Richard asking for money. It was far easier to squeeze blood from a stone than it was to ask Richard for money. It was also far less humiliating to starve and sleep in homeless shelters than to ask Richard for money. Around 1996ish Richard called me at work and said that my brother was in the Vancouver area and that he wanted me to help my brother with his car. Richard promised me that he’d send me something for my time. Nothing ever came.

My motorcycle, a 2001 Triumph Sprint RS, was written off in an accident that ICBC found the other party to be 100% responsible for. ICBC paid to rebuild the motorcycle and paid for all new riding gear. But, somehow me calling Richard after the accident to let him know that I was okay had somehow become me wanting money.

My car at the time, a 1981 Plymouth Horizon, blew the lower rad hose while I was driving to work one day. I bought a used engine from West Edmonton Pick-a-part. I bought all brand new hosing from Chrysler. I used Art’s garage out on the acreage to swap the engine. All in all this cost me about $500 to do. This was at the point in time when I still had the majority of my $30k from the Canshare Cabling contract job in Ontario.

My brother likes to say that I’m imagining Richard’s hatred of me. But this was far from imagined. Richard is one of those guys that could carry a grudge like Atlas carried the world. I know that it wasn’t my name change that pissed him off. I know it was my involvement P.S. that pissed him off. Apparently I fucked with his military career. I also willing to bet that I just reminded him too much of Marie. Whatever it was, the fucker absolutely despised me.

j) again, no.

k) in 2008 after I had received my paperwork stating that my name change was official and after I had received my new birth certificates, I sent Richard a brief letter stating why I had changed my name and that I was hoping with the name change that I’d be able to get a fresh start in life and leave the whole CFB Namao fiasco behind. He called me and told me to never contact him again.

l) from 1980 onwards Richard would blame me for any behavioural issues with my brother. I let the babysitter molest my brother so therefore my brother’s misbehaviours were my fault. During our time with Captain Terry Totzke, Richard and Totzke would often tell me that if I didn’t like what had occurred on CFB Namao that I wouldn’t have allowed for it to go on for so long. Richard was furious that I had been caught kissing another boy on CFB Griesbach stating that “that shit from Namao has to fucking stop” and that if I ever kissed another boy that he’d break my fucking neck.

I was in kindergarten on CFB Shearwater. Jennifer’s mother, the kindergarten teacher laughed at this.
He never sent me to a psychologist in Edmonton. That was Captain Totzke. Richard is noted in the Alberta Social Services paperwork as being very non-compliant with their recommendations.
I was not “hyperactive”.
I was beyond depressed, beyond despair, and severely anxious. I was terrified of men, and I hated being touched.
Richard was the one found by the psychologist hired by the Canadian Forces to be unwilling to take responsibility for his family. Richard was also found to be prone to blaming the problems with his family on others.
Alberta Social Services found that Richard would often change his stories from one meeting to the next (he lied) and that he often told people that he perceived to be in positions of authority what he thought they wanted to hear (I wonder if this is what happened here)
I dealt with the “Canada’s Wonderland” issue before. This statement is completely laughable. As my brother said, Canada’s Wonderland was Richard’s discount babysitting service. We had no choice if we wanted to go or not.

1978 he received a compassionate posting to CFB Namao. In October of 1980 he was moved from CFB Namao to CFB Griesbach. In April of 1983 he fled the jurisdiction of Alberta so as to avoid my apprehension by Alberta Social Services.

2011 two years previous would have been Richard calling me to tell me to never call him again because of the name change.

Anyways, after I read my father’s statement I was floored. So I took advantage of the Federal Court rules and I sent him a written examination. Even though the Justice wouldn’t allow this to be entered into the proceedings, they’re still a part of my applicants filings and they’ll be on record with the court.

And here are Richard’s answers. Note that the Attorney General of Canada, Department of National Defence, the Minister of National Defence, and the Federal Court of Canada all have copies of these questions and answers, but not a single agency cared.

1 & 2 – He agrees with everything that is noted in the “Will Say” that I supplied to him.
3 – We were at #11 – 12st from August 1978 until October 1980
4 – We were at 10215 – 138 Ave from October 1980 until April 1983.
5 – Roy Willian Anderson did not pass away until October of 1983 so I have absolutely no idea who passed away in 1980.

6 – Seems to be okay, but Grandma had actually been out to Shearwater numerous times to look after my brother and I when Richard and Marie were having problems.
7 – This is the first and probably only time that Richard has ever publicly admitted that his mother was First Nations.
8-9 – Can’t say whether he knew or not either way.
10 – This is weird. My brother would have been far too young to have been involved in most activities I was involved in.
11- Again this is weird.

Me, with no interest in sports apparently.

12 – Aurther Herman Gill is correct. Even though we lived in Toronto from April 1983 until July of 1990 he never once went to see his father in Oshawa even though we frequently visited Sue’s parents in Oshawa.
13 – This is correct, Uncle Doug would stay with us when he was home from the oil fields.
14 – Doug definitely would not have slept on the couch. Especially when he’d bring women home to spend the night with him. Doug had a cot and a sleeping area set up in the basement of our PMQ.
15 – Makes sense. That’s why Grandma was living with us. Richard was often away on training exercises or staying with girlfriends off base.
16 – 3 & 4 are wrong. Grandma would take the military shuttle bus from Namao to Griesbach and then transfer to the City of Edmonton busses. This is why we needed the services of P.S. in the first place. Grandma would have been recommended P.S. by Captain McRae himself as McRae had driven Grandma to the hospital a couple of times in a military motor pool car.
17 – This is correct. Grandma lived with us 24/7/365. Richard was rarely home.
18 – They knew what my problems were. That’s not why I had to attend the Westfield program.
19 – There were times that we wouldn’t see Richard for months on end. The average length of his training exercises was about 6 to 8 weeks.
20 – ?
21 – ?
22- This is where Richard throws his mother under the bus again like he did in 2006. Now there is a babysitter in the house unlike what he said in 2011, and lo-and-behold his mother hired the babysitter.
23 – August of 1980 according to the Social Service records, but only one month off, so not too bad.
24 – Not even going to try to make sense of this gibberish.
25 – Wow. We went to session after session with Captain Totzke at his office in the base HQ building. At the time I had no idea that he was in the Canadian Forces, but you can bet your bottom dollar that me father knew.
26 – 1 & 2 were notes in my social service records that indicated that Richard wanted very little involvement with his family and blamed the problems with his family on my mother, his mother, the teachers at school.
27 – So apparently I could flip between hyperactive and suicidally depressed. I don’t know about you, but I’m beginning to realize that Richard was a special kinda of “fucked up”.
28 – Kinda correct. Our teachers and our principal were getting frustrated with Captain Totzke’s lack of progress, hence why the call was made to bring Alberta Social Services into the picture.
29 – This was my apprehension. According to the Social Service paperwork Richard blew up because of the decision to remove me from the house and to place me into residential care or foster care.
30 – He’s just being stupid here. According to Captain Totzke when he spoke with my child care worker on January 28th, 1983, my father had just been transferred immediately to Ontario. That’s two days after Alberta Social Services wanted to pull me from the house. After this Richard pulled me from school. At the time he told me that I had been expelled for kissing another boy. In reality he would have pulled me from the school as this school was off base and Social Services could grab me at anytime. As log as I stayed on base, Social Services would need Captain Totzke’s permission to enter on to a Defence Establishment to remove me.
31 – A check with PEI reveals that Richard only made an application to the courts for custody, but that it never went any further, and the courts never awarded him custody.
32- According to my social service paperwork both my father and Captain Totzke promised Alberta Social Services that I was supposed to be placed into the Sick Kids hospital in Toronto for psychiatric care. Sick Kids has no records of me ever having been brought in for an evaluation.
33- Of course he can’t. It’s more of his made up bullshit.
34 – No teacher is going to consider a child not being allowed to go to an amusement park as “child abuse”. Richard sure loved to play the victim, didn’t he?
35 – Alberta Social Services had given the Children’s Aid Society of Toronto a “heads up” that my family was moving to Toronto.
36 – sounds okay except for #3. October 23rd, 1969 was the largest naval peacetime disaster in the history of the Canadian Navy. 11 members of the Canadian Navy died as a result of the explosion of one of the Kootenay’s gearboxes. Richard had previously served on that ship. He personally knew three of the men killed in the engine room. He was with the Sea King squadron that was accompanying the ships that day. He would have been involved with the removal of the dead and injured from the Kootenay.
37 – Richard did’t talk. Richard yelled. Richard bellowed.
38 – Projection much? This is exactly how he was described in the Alberta Social Services paperwork.
39 – No? Fuck me. On our way to the counselling sessions that we did attend, both Richard and Totzke would tell me to be quiet and not to answer Pat and Wayne’s questions as they would twist my words and make it sounds as if I said things that I didn’t say.
40 – This was Richard’s infamous temper tantrum meltdown in which he caused significant damage to the PMQ and required 3 military police officers to restrain him. This domestic appears to have been triggered by Marie’s request for him to sign the divorce papers to allow her to marry Art Wudrich.
41 – No. See the social service paperwork for an explanation of what home life was like.
42 – the result of the IQ test was 136 +/-6
43 – is correct, I’m a grade 8 drop out.
44 – this is incorrect. I moved out of the house in January or February of 1988 just after I had turned 16.
45 – Not bad.
46 – Since September 5th, 2005.
47 – 4th Class Power Engineering.
48 – He named P.S. himself various times between 1980 and 1988. He also named P.S. by himself and without any prodding in August of 2006 when I called him.
49 – Massive house fire, but okay, maybe he didn’t notice the burn marks up the front of the PMQ and the fresh plywood over the windows.
50 – He knew who McRae was.
51 – 52 Seem to be correct. This was a one-room school house apparently.
53 isn’t exactly correct. He only had grade 8. He had to take an upgrading course to join the Navy in 1963. It was through this course that he met Albert Dagenais and this is how he met my mother.

Below are some of the observations about my father made by the psychologist hired by Captain Terry Totzke to evaluate my family. Also are some of the observations made by Alberta Social Services.


Vince and Ravi

I don’t remember exactly how I started working for Vince and Ravi, but it was sometime after the start of grade 8.

I was in grade 8 for the ’85 to ’86 school year.

I would have been 14.

Vincent was involved with swimming at the University of Toronto. I forget exactly what Ravi did. But for the two of them video games were a sideline from their main jobs.

I’m pretty sure that I was working for Vince and Ravi before I even met Bob Becker from Trans American Video Amusements.

I would go and do service calls after school. At first I would call Vince after school and he’d pick me up and take me to the locations that needed service. After a while though Vince got me a pager and a set of master keys for the video games.

During school I’d keep the pager in my locker. Kept it on silent so as not to attract attention. But this was back in the day when the paging service didn’t record the messages, they’d just send numeric messages to the pager. And if the pager wasn’t on you didn’t get the message.

The keys were far too much of a risk to take to school. So I used to keep the keys at home in my basement bedroom. Because of my untreated severe depression and anxiety and habit of keeping to myself I was often a target for beatings at school. And the last thing I needed was to get beat up and have the keys taken away from me.

Vince and Ravi didn’t have many locations. A couple of convenience stores on Yonge north of Sheppard. They had a few locations around Dundas and Bloor near the Junction Triangle. And a few more locations out on the Danforth. They also had games in the “Studio” arcades that were owned by a guy named Andrew. I can’t remember them all, but there was Studio ’84, and Studio ’85.

I had always hoped on getting a Platt toolkit like the real technicians, but I had to make due with a kit that I made up with a kit made from Active Surplus in Toronto.

Carried around with me a soldering iron, a desoldering pump, desoldering wick, a digital voltmeter, a logic probe, some nut drivers, and a couple of screwdrivers.

I learnt then that it was better to carry around the tools that you frequently used as opposed to carrying everything.

I’d also carry a couple of coin mechanisms, some microswitches, some blade switches.

It was fun.

As I said it before was nice feeling like I belonged and that I was needed for something.

I think that’s why I always had jobs when I was a kid.

Looking back, there actually wasn’t a single year since about 1982 that I wasn’t working somewhere.

I quickly got the nickname “the kid”.

Troubleshooting logic problems wasn’t a problem, actually tracking down logic problems was pretty simple back then. Fixing power supplies, video monitors, etc. all turned out to be within my abilities.

I remember the time Vincent insisted that I bring a machine home that I was having trouble fixing. Around 22:00 hours we pull up to the back of the PMQ on CFB Downsview in a white rental van with a Williams Space Shuttle pinball machine in the back.

Richard woke up and he wasn’t too impressed.

I got the machine set up in the basement of the PMQ and worked on it for the next couple of days. Turned out to be a broken wire under the playfield.

I’ve never known to this day why, but I had the playfield up on the prop rod while I was working under the playfield. I don’t know if it was an accident, or if it was intentional, but my brother knocked the prop rod out of place and dropped the playfield on my head and back.

The playfield isn’t light. With all of the solenoids and other hardware on it I’d say the playfield probably weighs about 50 lbs. The power for the general illumination isn’t all that great. 6.3 VAC for the general illumination. The DC power supply for solenoids on the other hand are about +28 VDC. The 28 VDC is distributed to all of the solenoids on the playfield and then the returns from the solenoids goes back to the TIP120 darlington on the logic board.

So that meant that not only was the playfield digging into my head and back with all of the solenoids underneath the playfield, I was also getting minor shocks from the machine as the terminals for the solenoids were cutting into my skin.

Never did get an explanation from my brother.

My father laughed. Said I deserved what I got for not watching my back.

One day I got a series of pages from Vince. So I called him right after school

Vince was furious. Seems the owner of the little hamburger shop on Ridge and Wilson had called Vince stating that a bunch of kids had been opening the machine and taking money out of them and had been playing free games for hours. The owner of the hamburger shop had grabbed one of the kids and grabbed the keys from him. The owner of the hamburger shop threatened to call the police if the kid didn’t explain how he got the keys. The kid, C.C. said that my brother had sold him the keys for $20.

I thought that Vince was going to fire me. Nope. He saw no reason for this other kid to have lied. But he wasn’t too happy that my brother was able to get my keys so easily. Vince said that I’d have to be more careful with my keys. Vince suggested that I should put a lock on my bedroom door. I told Vince that my room didn’t have a door.

That’s when I started to learn how to hide my personal belongings. I’d keep the keys hidden in the exhaust ducting for the dryer or even under the control panel for the washing machine. When I started doing collections at the locations I’d have to keep the money hidden. The money I’d keep hidden in a soup can that I’d hide inside the floor drain in the basement.

The only problem this hiding caused is that I’d have to be very careful that no one discovered what I was doing.

I stopped working for Vince and Ravi when I went to work for Bob Becker.

Moonlighting wasn’t tolerated too well in the amusement machine industry back in the ’80s. It was a very cut throat business with a lot of unsavoury business practices.

So, not too many company owners were willing to allow their technician to work for other companies.

I don’t know what ended up happening with Vince and Ravi.

I doubt that they’re in the amusement machine business anymore. The amusement machine industry was decimated in the ’90s with the advent of home machines that far outperformed the most expensive arcade machine.

But still, I often look back at how carrying around my toolkit and fixing arcade machine at various locations across metro Toronto made me feel like anything was possible.

I guess we’re all allowed to be fucking idiots when we’re young, right?

Hoping that you never got what you wanted.

As a kid I learnt an odd behaviour of mine that still sort of continues on to this day.

However, now that I more or less have control over my life I find that I don’t often fall prey to this line of thinking. But it’s still there in the deep dark recesses of my defective brain.

When I was a kid, especially living on Canadian Forces Base Griesbach in Edmonton I had developed a perverse way of dealing with Richard’s stinginess and hatred-by-proxy of Marie.

When it would get close to xmas or my birthday I would secretly start wishing that I wouldn’t get what I had asked for.

And it worked.

Never once did I ever get what I had asked for, and by wishing that I wouldn’t get it I actually felt in control.

Looking back it was obviously a really weird coping mechanism, but it did allow me to cope none the less.

This obviously wasn’t a very healthy coping mechanism.

I would often pretend to not be interested in the latest and greatest thing.

And that would often set me on a collision course with the popular kids who thought that I was just trying to be “smarter than them” or who were convinced that I was just a fucking faggot loser.

At school the kids were into the Blue Jays, the Maple Leafs, the Argonauts, “pro” wrestling was a major thing in southern Ontario back then. The kids at school would have the latest jerseys, or other sports related paraphernalia.

I had nothing like this, I don’t even think my brother had anything contemporary back then.

When we lived in Edmonton from 1978 to 1983 this was practically the top of the Edmonton Oilers dynasty. Richard never once took us to a hockey game.

Our grandmother had actually taken us to some Edmonton Eskimos games with tickets that she’d get from the Bissell Centre for disadvantaged families.

Richard loved the Toronto Maple Leafs.

But in the 7-1/2 years that we lived in Toronto on Canadian Forces Base Downsview not once did we ever go to a hockey game.

And no. There was no watching hockey with Richard. If you wanted to watch hockey with Richard, that was fine, you just had to shut the fuck up and not say a single fucking thing. And don’t ask him stupid fucking questions either.

And it wasn’t like I didn’t play hockey as a kid. On CFB Namao my grandmother had enrolled me in beavers, swimming, hockey, bowling, and basketball.

Me before the fallout of the Captain Father Angus McRae child sex abuse scandal on Canadian Forces Base Namao.
Apparently I never played team sports.
There was no team photo for 1979 – 1980 as I was kicked out of hockey
as a result of the CFB Namao Child Sexual Abuse Scandal

“But Bobbie, what if your father had no money, he was in the Canadian Forces”.

Sure, the pay was bad in the ’60s and the ’70s. But this was offset by the lowered housing costs of living in the PMQs on base. Also, ranks tended to be very close in pay grade. Privates made one rate, Corporals made another, Master Corporals made another rate, Sergeants made another.

I don’t have access to the historical pay schedules. But even going with the current pay schedule the ranks make basic monthly rates based primarily upon rank, but modified by number of years at that rank level and any special qualifications.

The end result is that my father as a Master Corporal wasn’t making $1k per month while the Master Corporal living next door was making making $2.5k per month.

Where’d his money go?

Not to my brother or I. That was for sure.

I know he had no issue spending money on the latest and greatest knickknack or computer toy for himself.

Was he paying child support on the sly? This honestly wouldn’t surprise me in the least. He did have a habit of skirt chasing.

Was he paying an out-of-court settlement for one of his drinking and driving collisions? Again this is a possibility as his insurance would have been very expensive given the number of collisions that he had over the years.

Other than that I don’t know.

But Bobbie, it’s his money, he can spend it any way that he wants to. You can’t tell him what to spend it on.

That may be true. But he should have worn a condom. Or pulled out. Or even just have asked for oral or a handjob. Would have obviously saved a lot of grief.

You don’t get someone pregnant and then wash your hands of the responsibility claiming that your responsibility ended at conception.

You don’t take your hatred of your former spouse out on your children as if being cruel to your kids was going to make your former spouse realize how much she inconvenienced you by leaving you to look after the children you fathered.

So yeah, birthdays mean nothing to me. And xmas means nothing as well.

I won’t stop you from celebrating.

But hopefully you understand why I don’t celebrate.

And no. Please don’t think that you’re going to “fix me” by inviting me to xmas parties or birthday parties. Nothing makes me feel more awkward and out of place. And it’s so fucking tiring pretending like I fit in or like I’m enjoying myself.

The Canadian Forces Ombudsman’s wings are clipped.

Or how an Independent at arms length agency is controlled by the agency that it is supposed to be overseeing and is supposed to be independent from.

It looks as if the Canadian Forces is getting slagged in the media again. This time not for its abysmal ability to investigate matters of sexual assault within the Canadian Armed Forces.

No, the Canadian Forces is getting slagged for interfering with the Office of the Ombudsman for the Canadian Forces.

The Office of the Ombudsman has powers that the Military Police Complaints Commission doesn’t have. The Ombudsman can compel members of the Canadian Armed Forces to appear before any of its investigations. One would think that this matter would also extend to retired service members who were subject to the Code of Service discipline at the material time of the investigation.

The Ombudsman is supposed to have unfettered access to DND and CF records and can compel the Canadian Forces and the Department of National Defence to hand records and documents over to the Ombudsman for their investigation.

Why does the Ombudsman have these powers? Because no criminal charges can flow from a Ombudsman review. The Ombudsman can only make non-binding recommendations to the Minister of National Defence, the Department of National Defence, and the Canadian Forces.

For example

In 1974 there was a group of teenagers on Canadian Forces Base Valcartier in the province of Quebec. These teenagers were all between the ages of 12 and 18 and were members of various army cadet corps from across Canada. Somehow a live grenade found its way into the hands of one of the teenagers during a class session on ordnance. One cadet even asked the instructor, a captain of the regular force if it was a real grenade, the captain responded that no it wasn’t. So the teenager did what any curious teenager would have done, they pulled the pin and released the handle.

The grenade exploded.

https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/montreal/valcartier-grenade-incident-survivors-1.5235226

https://www.thestar.com/news/canada/2009/07/26/coroners_inquest_found_a_climate_of_negligence.html

In 2013 the Office of the Ombudsman for the Canadian Forces received the permission of the then Conservative Minister of National Defence Rob Nichols to undertake an investigation of a pre-mandate issue.

http://www.ombudsman.forces.gc.ca/en/ombudsman-reports-stats-investigations-valcartier/valcartier-index.page
https://legionmagazine.com/en/2015/11/ombudsman-condemns-handling-of-cadets-after-1974-grenade-accident/

I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that the Ombudsman would not have been allowed to conduct this pre-mandate review in the era of Harjit Sajjan or for that matter Justin Trudeau. After all, it was Harjit Sajjan that accused me of playing games and having an angle when I went to speak with him in February of 2016 just after he became the Minister of National Defence.

Even my local MP, Dr. Hedy Fry says that she can’t become involved in my matter because there are “no military bases” in Vancouver Centre.

And it was under Sajjan’s command that the Department of National Defence and the Canadian Armed Forces refused to release to me the court martial transcripts of Captain Father Angus McRae along with the Canadian Forces Special Investigations paperwork all because they indicated that the Canadian Forces chain of command was well aware in 1980 that my babysitter, P.S. had been molesting numerous children on Canadian Forces Base Namao and that Captain Father Angus McRae, who the MPCC called a known pedophile in 2020, was enticing children over to the rectory at the base chapel and getting them drunk before “fooling around” with them.

I have absolutely no idea as to why the Liberal Party of Canada refuses to allow the Office of the Ombudsman of the Canadian Forces to conduct an investigation into historical child sexual abuse in the era of the pre-1998 National Defence Act but neither Harjit Sajjan, Dr. Hedy Fry, nor Justin Trudeau seem to show any inclination to uncover what was hidden by a well known defective military justice system.

And I’m not imagining this interference.

Lo-and-Behold, it would appear that the Minister of National Defence and the Deputy Minister of National Defence have been interfering with the Office of the Ombudsman of the Canadian Forces.

https://twitter.com/wardrachel/status/1469327707410366465?s=20

https://twitter.com/davidpugliese/status/1469304939851632640?s=20
From David’s article.

Jesus H. Christ….

A few years ago Randal Garrison, the MP for Esquimalt-Saanich-Sooke and then the Vice Co-Chair of the Standing Committee on National Defence asked Lt. General. Christine Whitecross during a committee hearing who had jurisdiction for the investigation of child sexual assaults on the bases in Canada. She blathered out some meaningless drivel about all child sexual abuse matters being handed over to the civilian authorities.

You can watch or download the video below.

Sure, I wasn’t a member of the Canadian Armed Forces. But my father was.
And under the Ombudsman’s mandate I am allowed to ask the Ombudsman to review a matter in relation to my involvement with the military justice system back in 1980.

Section 12(f) allows me to avail myself to the CF Ombudsman

These are the policies that guide the office of the Ombudsman.

https://www.canada.ca/en/department-national-defence/corporate/policies-standards/defence-administrative-orders-directives/5000-series/5047/5047-1-office-of-the-ombudsman.html

DND and the CF SHALL provide……..

Hrrmmmm. So the Ombudsman can review military police investigations.
Interesting.
During a Military Police Complaints Commission investigation the CFNIS and the MPs can tell the MPCC to go piss up a rope.
Not so with the CF Ombudsman.
The Military Police Complaints Commission has no such authority.
A very interesting annex.

According to the above Annex B, the Canadian Forces are preventing the Ombudsman from conducting criminal investigations. But the Canadian Forces are also stating that there is nothing stopping the Ombudsman from conducting an investigation while a Military Police or CFNIS investigation is underway. So there would have been nothing stopping the Ombudsman from reviewing how military dependents are treated by the military justice system which is set up to deal primarily with perpetrators and victims that are subjected to the Code of Service Discipline and not civilians with no connection to the Canadian Forces other than they were military dependents at the time of the alleged crimes.

For instance the Ombudsman could review how the 3-year-time-bar or the Summary Investigation flaw actively prohibits the Canadian Armed Forces or any civilian court from bringing Code of Service Discipline charges against any person who was subject to the Code of Service Discipline prior to December of 1998.

The Ombudsman could also review how military dependents and other civilians availing themselves to the military justice system receive no actual victim services from the Canadian Forces as they are not members of the Canadian Forces and how often these military dependents receive no help from the provinces as the provinces consider sexual abuse on the military bases to be a Ottawa issue.

The Ombudsman could also initiate an inquiry to look at the rates of child sexual abuse on the bases prior to 1998 and determine if the 3-year-time-bar and the Summary Investigation flaw denied justice to children and also served to present an artificially low incidence of child sexual abuse on the bases in Canada.

The Ombudsman could also look into how the appalling homophobic attitudes of the Canadian Forces and the Department of National Defence resulted in male children being subjected to “conversion therapy” at the hands of the Canadian Forces military social workers.

I never wanted to CF Ombudsman to judge P.S. and determine if P.S. was guilty of what I accused him of.

I only wanted the CF Ombudsman to review child sexual abuse on the Canadian Forces Bases in the era of the pre-1998 National Defence Act and to have the CF Ombudsman urge the Minister of National Defence and the Department of National Defence to do the right thing.

And you wonder why I am so looking forward to my date with death in 2023.

A person can only be told “Up” is “Down” and “White” is “Black” for so long before all of the demons from the past urge one to just give in an fall into the eternal slumber where none of this shit will ever haunt a person again.