Uncategorized – Page 28

There’s a lot of work in death.

Well, for the last couple of days I’ve been having a little bit of a back and forth with the local health authority trying to gain more knowledge about Medical Assistance in Dying.

The actual dying process I understand.

But it’s all the other matters surrounding my death that I definitely need to start planning for.

I need a will.

I had never really thought about that.

I was planning on giving my belongings away to those who wanted them. It’s not like I need to take money into the afterlife. But, to prevent squabbles, I was told to get a will and put everything in writing.

Really, my will would come down to who gets my ebike, who gets my motorcycle, who gets my computers.

My pension and other benefits would be handled via the instructions on my policies.

Other than that, I have nothing.

No property, no assets, zip, zilch, nada.

I guess depression and anxiety always kept me anchored in the here and now.

It’s not like I don’t have savings or other financial instruments. It’s just that I never had any desire to collect things like cards, or cars, or motorcycles, or homes, or condos.

When you have severe and deep depression you’re not really looking into the future as you’re expecting to die any day.

My affairs will be pretty simple, except for my brother there’s no next of kin or any other “family” that I have to worry about appeasing, so no “Game of Thrones” type family politics.

Needing a will is apparently even true for the disposal of my body.

It’s not enough to sign forms with medical schools and institutes expressing my desires for my body to go to medical research.

That has to go into a will as well.

One copy would go to a lawyer. One copy would go to my physician.

As I have no family or relations to rely on I need to go the extra step and arrange for the transfer of my body. As my death will be what is known as an “expected death” the coroner will not attend. Nor will my physician remove my body. Would look kinda funny with my doctor lugging my corpse down the elevator and then strapping it into the passenger seat of his car and driving it over to UBC. So that means that I have to make arrangements ahead of my death to have someone remove my body and deliver my body where it needs to go.

Thankfully the IV method is available at home.

It turns out that whether I use the oral method or the IV method, both methods require the attendance of a physician or a nurse practitioner.

The nice thing is that it was confirmed that if I want to die in my own bed in my apartment that I can do so.

And no. My landlord legally cannot prevent me from dying in my apartment.

I guess that once I pick a date and time I’ll have to notify the landlord. If I time everything correctly, there won’t be anything really to remove from my apartment. My Bed. Maybe some clothes.

No special cleaning of my apartment will be required because my body will be removed from my apartment before I even cool down to room temp.

Gotta be sure to close all of my financial accounts. Sure, I could leave everything open, but why be an asshole?

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A little fly landed into my ointment as I was writing this post.

I got a reply email from the body donation program at UBC. They’ll only accept whole body donations. They will not remove my brain and send it off to a different research lab.

So……. maybe I won’t be able to die at home in my own bed.

Shame. It’s a really nice and comfy one.

I might have to go die in Montreal if I want my brain to go to the research lab that I have in mind which would be an adventure in itself. I have been to Montreal a couple of times. Renting an apartment for a couple of months might be in the cards.

Now, if I do have to end up going to Montreal to die that changes what I do with the rest of my body.

I’ve always been intrigued with the concept of giving my body to a “body farm”. And so far Canada only has one body farm in operation and that’s also in La belle province.

As I said, I had never really put any thought into my death. And now that I can see my death within my near future, there sure are a lot of matters to iron out.

Beyond help.

The Nurse Practitioner that I’ve been seeing since May of last year has been wonderful to date. He set me up with the escitalopram. Which I am thankful for.

But he’s nearly fallen into the same trap that some of my previous counsellors have fallen into.

He thinks that counselling will help me with my demons.

Sadly, he couldn’t be further from the truth.

The rot and malignancy in my brain is toxic and it was left untreated, ignored, and minimized for so very long and it is killing me on a daily basis.

One of the problem that I encounter with getting help is my previous experience of having been caught in between Captain Terry Totzke, my military social worker from Canadian Forces Base Namao, and my civilian counsellors from Alberta Social Services.

Now, of course at the time back in 1980 through 1983 I had absolutely no idea that Terry was actually Captain Terry Totzke.

But still.

That fucker hurt me, he destroyed me, he killed me.

I was 9 to 11 years old when I was in that asshole’s care.

That’s a pretty critical time in a child’s development life.

I had been sexually abused for 1-1/2 years at the hands of my babysitter. I had been taken over to the base chapel and given alcohol.
And as we now know, Captain McRae admitted to the military police to giving the children wine and beer before “fooling around” with them in the bedroom of the rectory.

Not only was I caught being buggered in P.S.’s bedroom, but I got the shit beat out of me before I got back home which was literally across the street.

I spend the rest of the summer hiding in my house. I didn’t dare step foot outside ’cause of the other kids.

But then school started up and I was beat up almost non-stop every day.

My family was relocated from CFB Namao to CFB Griesbach and as soon as I start going to the school on CFB Griesbach I start seeing a guy name Terry who was concerned that I was a homosexual and that homosexuality was a mental illness.

He even went so far as to tell me that the military police were watching me and if they reported back to him that I had kissed another boy, I was going to be sent off to the Alberta Hospital.

My own father started blaming me for what P.S. did to my younger brother. And I have absolutely no doubt that as my father was a master corporal and that Terry was a captain that my father was placing undue emphasis on Terry’s words.

As I’ve learnt, my father had a backbone made of jello. Sure, he could beat the shit out of me and my brother. But when the chain of command gave him an order he was as firm as milquetoast.

Then I start going to a special school off base. A place that Terry says that I’m going because I’m attracted to boys and I won’t stop trying to kiss boys. My father echoes Terry with the constant refrain that if I stop trying to kiss and touch other boys that I can go back to normal school.

Pat and Wayne, my civilian social workers are always trying to be my friend. They’re always trying to get me to talk about my father and what things are like at home. They want me to express my feelings. They want me to talk about what’s going on in my head.

I remember every morning at Westfield having to do “Temperature Check” which was basically you telling the class how high or low your emotions were and what was making you happy or sad. Fuck did I ever hate temperature check. I couldn’t express my emotions.

Terry and my father would tell me to be very careful with what I said to these “head shrinkers”. That I need to be careful. That Pat and Wayne will twist my words and make me say things that I didn’t really say. That if I’m not careful I’ll be taken away from my father. And considering that my mother had “run away with a man named Gus” because I didn’t love her enough, the last thing I wanted was to be taken away from my father.

Being caught in a war between the Canadian Armed Forces and Alberta Social Services was not a pleasant experience.

Living in the household of Richard who was drilling into my head that he was sick and fucking tired of me fucking around with his military career was not a pleasant experience.

There was no one to help.

So I learnt to keep my mouth shut. To keep the tears inside. To smile even though my fucking brain was on fire.

What else could I do?

I have attempted to go to counselling over the years, but one thing always seems to pop up. That is the ignorance the general public have towards the Canadian Forces and what life was like on the bases.

Most of the counsellors that I’ve seen over the years have no idea that children lived on the bases. The idea of children living on military bases is a very foreign idea.

When I tell people that what probably affected me more and harmed me more than the sexual abuse was the way in which Terry and my father reacted to the sexual abuse.

“There’s no way that your father would have blamed you”.

Sure there is.

At the time the Canadian Armed Forces had viewed male-on-male sexual assault as homosexuality. And the Canadian Armed Forces viewed homosexuality as a mental illness. That’s just the way things were. Sure, this was a policy towards military personnel, but in military families the serving member didn’t check their military attitudes at the door. Their military attitudes and the attitudes of the Canadian Armed Forces came right into the PMQ.

I know why my father told people what he thought they wanted to hear. It’s much easier that way.

When I was much younger I would often tell people that I was happy when I was on the verge of a complete mental breakdown.

With absolutely no family for support in my late teens, my twenties, my thirties, or my forties, there was absolutely no way that I was going to tell anyone that I was having mental crises. I couldn’t afford to miss time from work, no could I afford to lose my employment. It’s one thing to hide mental illness, it’s another thing to be mentally ill and living on the streets. When you’re mentally ill and living on the streets you’re even more invisible to society than a sexually abused military dependent.

As my foster care records indicate, in the aftermath of the sexual abuse on CFB Namao, I had no ability to make friends. I couldn’t express emotions. I could’t express happiness or sadness. I was terrified of men.

Those issues have affected me into my adult life. I still have no friends. I have co-workers, but that’s it. I have had two partners in my adult life. And both of those, one male and one female, were absolute disasters.

I have absolutely no idea of what I am. Gay? Bi? Straight? Not a fucking clue. I’ve had gay sex. Don’t like it. All I can think of is P.S.. I’ve had straight sex, but all I can visualize is what P.S. was doing to the little girl who was about six years old. Bi? Well, if I don’t like gay sex and I don’t like straight sex, bi isn’t going to be an option.

Asexual? Don’t know. More than likely I’ve just got way too much fucking trauma from Canadian Forces Base Namao in my head to ever be able to have a “normal” relationship. And in our society you need to belong to one team or the other.

I don’t really belong to any team, which is why I don’t have a problem with things like wearing dresses. To me a dress is a comfortable piece of clothing. I don’t associate it with being male clothing or female clothing. It’s just clothing. And I like it. And it doesn’t touch my body.

All these years later and I still don’t like people or things touching my body.

That’s honestly one of those things that make any type of relationship impossible is I don’t like being touched.

That, and I think that sex is disgusting and perverse.

It’s something that only sick people do, or something that you do if you want something from somebody else, or you allow someone else to do to you if you’re trying to make them happy.

And this is the hardest thing to make doctors and counsellors understand. I’m not okay. I’m not a fucking “warrior” or what ever sappy feel good terms are being thrown around these day.

I’m fucking damaged.

I have my father’s depression. I have my mother’s anxiety. I have the memories of what P.S. did to me, to my brother, to the little blonde haired girl, to some of the other kids I watched him molest.

I have Terry permanently burnt into my brain, and he’s not going anywhere.

I have my father constantly telling me that I can’t go swimming at the Kinsmen Sports Centre in Edmonton when I was 11 because there’d be other naked boys in the change room and that I wouldn’t be able to control myself.

I have the beatings at Richard’s hands that would get so extreme that I’d try to hide under my captain’s bed to get away from Richard burnt into my brain.

I have Richard’s sarcasm and putdowns burnt into my head.

I have the memories of opportunities taken away from me because Richard wanted to “teach me a lesson” and get me to “stop showing off”.

I know now that my father was identified by a psychologist hired by the Canadian Armed Forces of not taking any responsibility for his family. But that doesn’t lessen the memories of the beating Richard laid on my when my brother took the Pontiac for a joyride.

Yes, Richard was ill equipped to be a father, his own mother had issues which no doubt were handed down to Richard, but that doesn’t erase the memories of Richard’s anger from my brain. Nor does it lessen the effects of the damage from all those years ago.

There’s so much more.

And I can’t get any help with these issues.

Mr. Bees, we can’t move on if you’re stuck in the past.
Mr. Bees, children were never in the military
Mr. Bees, I’ve never heard of children living on military bases
Mr. Bees, why didn’t you tell your father
Mr. Bees, if you were a victim, surely the military police would have done something.
Mr. Bees, you’re talking about the military. Surely there’s no safer place for a child than being on a military base.

It’s all of these ill conceived notions about the reality of the life of a military dependent that have conspired against me receiving help.

My greatest fear right now is that due to my reluctance to not seek psychiatric counselling in the past that this might harm my attempts to obtain medical assistance in dying.

Outside of me wanting to clear my name in the CFB Namao fiasco I really don’t have a reason to continue living.

I am tormented non-stop by the memories of CFB Namao, CFB Griesbach, Terry, Richard, Earl, and all of the other horseshit that went on in my life before I had even turned sixteen.

These don’t go away. These won’t go away.

Even on the escitalopram I still get brain fog, although the escitalopram does help with the frustration that used to come with the fog. I can feel the anxiety there, below the surface.

It’s not like I’m griping about a dead goldfish from when I was 12, or that I haven’t gotten over a glass of spilt milk when I was 10.

The events on CFB Namao have driven a couple of the other victims to suicide.

And yes, I have tried suicide myself before.

Two things have pulled me back at the last minute.

I hate pain, I really do. Death doesn’t frighten me. Not existing any longer doesn’t scare me or frighten me. Dying scares the fuck out of me. Not being successful scares me even more than the pain of dying. Being a gimped out vegetable after a botched attempt really doesn’t appeal to me.

M.A.i.D. is my ticket out of here. I don’t want to live until I’m 70 with the crap from Namao playing non-stop in my skull. I don’t want Terry in my head anymore. I don’t want P.S. in my head anymore. I don’t want to constantly be caught in the endless loop of wondering if I would have been half the fuck-up that I currently am if I had told someone about what P.S. was doing to me and my brother or the other kids.

I’ve rarely talked about any of my suicide attempts out of fear of losing employment or being locked up. Don’t forget it wasn’t until 1972 that the criminal offence of attempting suicide was removed from the criminal code. The stigmatism against suicide and those who attempt suicide is still very prevalent in society. Those who attempt suicide or commit suicide are seen as losers, or mentally disturbed, or just weak.

What’s kept me going since 2011 is the faint hope that I will be able to clear my name and that CFB Namao would no longer be my fault.

And now, to be so close, but yet so far away is maddening.

Medical Assistance in Dying for psychiatric issues is supposed to be legalized in March of 2023.

One of the accepted mental illnesses is “depression”.

And to be so close only to find out that the fact that I stayed away from counsellors and therapy over the years due to my experience with Terry back in 1980 through 1983 might prevent me from receiving M.A.i.D. just doesn’t seem right or fair.

The fact that I’ve kept my suicide attempts to myself out of fear of losing employment opportunities and that this secrecy may keep me from my goal of M.A.i.D. also doesn’t seem right or fair.

I know that I’m probably reading too much into this.

But M.A.i.D. is what I really want, and I don’t want to be denied this procedure all because of issues that Captain Totzke set into motion years ago.

Things are going to get a little interesting.

On Friday afternoon I met with a lawyer from Guardian Law.

I signed my affidavit and then we talked about the case.

Guardian Law will submit my affidavit on Monday and once it is filed and stamped it is a legal document and then I can release it to the public.

I will be the “Representative Plaintiff” in this matter. My name will be the only name made public. The names of the other victims will be sealed and remain so even after the hearings / trial unless each individual requests that their name be made public.

I am not too sure which direction this will go.

The Canadian Armed Forces and the Department of National Defence are not going to simply own up to what happened on Canadian Forces Base Namao.

But the Canadian Armed Forces and the Department of National Defence also do not want this going to a public trial for obvious reasons.

I will fight any attempt by the Attorney General of Canada, the Department of National Defence, or the Canadian Forces to put a blanket publication ban over this trial.

The law firm representing me is seeking $50,000,000.00 in damages and all related expenses. After the 33% lawyer contingency fee is subtracted this works out to about $1,400,000.00 per victim of Captain McRae.

This is based upon 25 children from Canadian Forces Base Namao. If other victims of Captain McRae come forward from the other bases McRae served on, then the law firm would increase the amount it is seeking in damages.

The other bases that Captain McRae served on were:

Canadian Forces Base Kingston / Royal Military College Kingston, ON
Canadian Forces Base Portage La Prairie, MB
Canadian Forces Station Holberg, BC
McRae also apparently travelled to CFB Greenwood, NS at some time

Canadian Armed Forces regular force officer Captain Father Angus McRae was active between January 1973 and July 1980.

He was known by the base military police and the CFSIU to give beer and alcohol to the children he was abusing.

In his Ecclesiastical Trial conducted by the Archdiocese of Edmonton in June of 1980, Captain McRae admitted that he had been abusing boys for years prior.

If you were abused by Captain Father Angus McRae, or by one of his altar boys that he would sometimes use to lure younger children over to the base chapels of the various bases that he served on, you can send an email to me at mailto:DND_action@protonmail.com and your contact information will be passed on to the class action lawyers. Do not provide details of your abuse in this email. The lawyer will contact you for a statement. If you do give a statement and you do not wish for your name to be made public, the lawyer will obtain a publication ban for your name and other identifying details.

So, the next post will be hopefully about my affidavit and the contents of the affidavit.

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.

Daniel Edward Munro

What pray tell did retired Canadian Armed Forces officer Brigadier General Daniel Edward Munro do back in June and July of 1980?

Former base commander of CFB Edmonton and
Commanding Officer of Captain Father Angus McRae.

Brig-Gen. D.E. Munro — Ret. Brigadier General Daniel Edward Munro

I don’t know too much about Daniel except for that he appears to have joined the navy in February of 1955. He retired from the Canadian Forces in September of 1990 with the rank of Brigadier General.

I did make contact with Daniel about 5 years ago. He had some involvement with a lawn bowling club in the suburbs of Victoria, B.C.. Oddly enough he didn’t want to talk about his role in the court martial of Captain Father Angus McRae.

I have no respect for Daniel, so I’m not going to use his rank or his last name. I will always refer to Angus McRae as Captain Father Angus McRae so that everyone remembers that this child molester was a regular force officer in the Canadian Armed Forces.

Daniel was a Colonel in 1979 when he was the Base Commander of Canadian Forces Base Edmonton which was comprised of Canadian Forces Base Namao and Canadian Forces Base Griesbach. Daniel seems to have had a decent career in the military as he retired a Brigadier General.

Daniel was also the Commanding Officer of Captain Father Angus McRae.

One of the more curious aspects of Daniel is that as McRae’s commanding officer Daniel was the person that formerly charged Captain McRae with the offences that McRae was accused of committing.

Daniel Edward Munro laying charges against Captain Father Angus McRae

Daniel Edward Munro laying charges against Captain McRae

Munro Lays Charges Download

Captain McRae was being charged with having committed Service Offences via Section 120 of the National Defence Act which enumerated civilian Criminal Code offences as Code of Service Discipline matters.

Prior to 1985 the Canadian Armed Forces could not conduct a service tribunal for the crimes of “Murder, Manslaughter, or Rape”. However, Gross Indecency, Indecent Assault, and Buggery are not “Rape”.

Also, the Canadian Forces could not conduct a service tribunal for “Gross Indecency”, “Indecent Assault”, and “Buggery” unless the possibility of consent existed. (see Regina vs. Corporal Donald Joseph Sullivan).

In 1980, the age that a child could consent to have sexual relations with an adult was 14. Hence why Captain McRae was not charged with sexually abusing any child under the age of 14. This explains why Peter was the only boy that Captain McRae was charged for committing “acts of homosexuality” with. All of the other kids were under the age of 14. If McRae had been charged for committing “acts of homosexuality” with boys under the age of 14, McRae’s trial would have had to have been moved into the civilian courts.

Section 120 of the 1970 RSC Chapter N-4 National Defence Act

Section 120 National Defence Act Download

How would a man such as Daniel Munro get the power to bring charges or dismiss charges against his subordinate? That would be via Sections 139 and 140 of the 1970 Revised Statutes of Canada, Chapter N-4, National Defence Act.

Section 140 of the 1970 National Defence Act

The National Defence Act would be updated in 1985, below is the 1985 version.

Section 162 of the 1985 National Defence Act

When these acts are updated, sections get moved around as other sections are added, amended, or deleted. 1975 Section 140 became 1985 Section 162. “R.S., c. N-4, s. 140.” at the end of Section 162 is telling the reader to refer to the Revised Statutes of Canada, Chapter N-4, Section 140 for the previous version of this section. As the two sections read identical, there were obviously no changes.

Remember the Somalia incident in the early ’90s when members of the Canadian Airborne Regiment lured a teenager into a compound and then tortured and beat him to death?

That fiasco, and the fallout from it led to the Somalia Inquiry. The Somalia Inquiry came about because the Canadian Armed Forces weren’t seemingly able to mete out justice in this matter. No one of an officer rank was held responsible, and the whole fiasco got dumped on the shoulders of one Private Kyle Brown who turned out to be the official scape goat for the Somalia Incident.

The Inquiry found that this was able to happen solely because the Chain of Command was able to interfere and mis-direct the military police and the CFSIU. Basically those up the Chain of Command ensured that other officers in the Chain of Command wouldn’t have to wear the responsibility of their subordinates.

Out of the inquiry came two striking recommendations.

The first was to outright eliminate the requirement of the Commanding Officer to conduct a summary investigation AFTER the military police had laid charges against their subordinate. The second recommendation was to eliminate the 3-year-time-bar. I’ll talk more about that in the next post.

Legislative Summary LS-311E Section 2d
From 1998
Explaining the language in Bill C-25 (1998)
An Amendment to make Amendments to the National Defence Act.

From 1950 until 1998, Commanding Officers were required under the National Defence Act to review the charges that had been laid against their subordinate by the military police. The Somalia Inquiry found that these Commanding Officers often had no legal training, no legal background, and often put their own parochial interests above the ideals of justice. After all, the military justice system is not a justice system, it is a disciplinary system.

This was altered a bit in 1997 when an Administrative Order was issued from NDHQ which required that Commanding Officers wishing to dismiss charges against their subordinates would need to speak to a Legal Officer from the office of the Judge Advocate General.

And yes, if you read LS-311E Section 2d carefully enough, it states in very plain English that ANY Code of Service Discipline Charge (gross indecency, indecent assault, buggery) that Daniel dismissed against Captain McRae in could never be brought against Captain McRae at a later date by either a Civilian or Military tribunal.

Nobody will ever know how many charges Daniel dismissed against Captain McRae.

Nobody will ever know which one of Daniel’s superiors ordered him to dismiss the charges he may have dismissed. After all, Daniel was bound by the National Defence Act to obey his superiors.

The Somalia Inquiry also found that Base Commanders wielded and inordinate amount of power over not only the base military police, but also the CFSIU as well.

When I spoke to retired Warrant Officer Frederick R. Cunningham on November 27th, 2011 he said that the military police knew of many more children that had been abused by Peter and Captain McRae but that the “brass” dropped all of the charges against McRae except for the charges related to Peter.

When I spoke with Peter’s father Jack in July of 2015 Jack said that shortly after Peter had told the base military police about what Captain Father Angus McRae had been doing the military police officer showed Jack a list with at least 25 names on it.

Remember, both of these events happened in 2011 and 2015. Well before David Pugliese was able to hound the Department of National Defence into releasing the transcripts of Captain Father Angus McRae’s court martial to me.

In 2020 I would discover that neither Jack nor retired Warrant Officer Frederick R. Cunningham were lying to me. There was a list of names.

A search for “List” revealed 13 exact matches.

So, as you can see, there was a list. This list contained the names of all of the boys that were hanging around McRae’s PMQ and the Rectory.

Yeah, he gave us liquor.
Much easier to get us to loosen up.
Much easier to help us not remember what had happened, even though deep inside we all know something happened.

And yes, the base military police, the CFSIU, and Daniel all knew that there was a list of names, that Captain McRae had been sexually abusing NUMEROUS children on a secure defence establishment, and yet Captain McRae was only charged with committing “Acts of Homosexuality” with ONE BOY.

As I said before, I don’t think we’ll ever know how many charges Daniel dismissed against his direct subordiate, or why he dismissed those charges and only allowed the ones involving Peter to proceed.

But what I do know is that Daniel signed my fucking death warrant on July 2nd 1980 and left me to a life time of torment created by Canadian Armed Forces officer Captain Terry Totzke, and Master Corporal Richard Wayne Gill, my spineless father.

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.

CFAO 19_20 Download

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.

The Exclusion of Evidence

The destruction of evidence by the CFNIS is nothing new to me.

There was a recent story in the Ottawa Citizen by David Pugliese.
It had to do with the CFNIS being ordered by a commanding officer who wasn’t even in the military police hierarchy ordering the destruction of evidence in a CFNIS investigation. Due to the chain of command structure within the Canadian Armed Forces, the CFNIS had no choice but to comply with the order.

https://t.co/RgD2CyKNCm

Now, if you’ve been following this blog, or my other blog at http://cfbnamao.ca you understand that I’ve been very leery of the claim by the Canadian Armed Forces that the CFNIS are “outside of the chain of command”.

During the investigation of my complaint against Peter, my babysitter from Canadian Forces Base Namao, there were many questionable issues with the investigation, but none so alarming as what happened on May 3rd and May 4th during my interactions with CFNIS investigator Mcpl Christian Cyr.

On May 3rd, 2011, just before lunch, Mcpl Cyr called me and left me a message on my phone to call him back immediately.

When I called him back, Cyr kept pressing me to understand that Peter was only 12 or 13 in the spring of 1980. However, as we all know, Peter was born in June of 1965.

The funny thing is, Peter’s CPIC file would have his correct date of birth, which is in June of 1965. The only place that Peter’s age is misstated is in the CFSIU transcript.

And, there’s no way that Peter was under the age of 14 at the time of McRae’s court martial. The Canadian Forces could only conduct a court martial for Gross Indecency and Indecent assault if the victim was over the age of consent, which was 14 in 1980. If the Canadian Forces wanted to try Captain McRae for gross indecency and indecent assault against children under the age of 14, the CF would have had to hand this case over to the civilian courts.

Near what should have been the end of the phone call, Mcpl Cyr just blurted out the matter of Captain Father Angus McRae. I broke down and lost my composure when he mentioned that the base chaplain had been arrested and charged with molesting children during the same period of time that I was accusing Peter of molesting myself and my brother.

Further, I told Mcpl Cyr about the five visits to the living quarters at the chapel in which Peter would escort me over from different parts of the base and that I never remembered anything after the sickly sweet grape juice. I don’t remember leaving the chapel. And I don’t remember how I got back home.

I had to leave work early as I was sickened and nauseated by what I discovered when I did a simple Google search for “CFB Namao Molesting Priest” on one of the computers at work.

When I got home from work I did some more searching for information on McRae.

I sent off a pair of emails that evening to Mcpl Cyr.

These are Mcpl Cyr’s notes of the telephone conversation

This is the SAMPIS record of Mcpl Cyr’s interaction with me.

It should be noted from above that the first item #4 is incorrect. I told Mcpl Cyr that I remembered 5 visits that Peter had taken me on over to the chapel to see Captain McRae. All of the five visits ended with what I remembered as being a “sickly sweet grape juice”. I told Mcpl Cyr that I didn’t remember anything after the “grape juice”, not even how I got home from the chapel.

Just as an aside, and for the record. In October of 2020 with the assistance of Ottawa Citizen and Defence Watch writer David Pugliese, the DND and the Minister of National Defence conceded in their fight to keep Captain McRae’s Court Martial Transcripts away from me.

According to the Military Police Complaints Commission, the CFNIS had access to these court martial records as well as the CFSIU investigation paperwork from 1980.

Why is this important?

Warrant Officer Frederick Cunningham being examined during Captain McRae’s Court Martial

Me. The fucker gave me wine.

I wouldn’t learn until 2013 when I received the Certified Tribunal Records from the Military Police Complaints Commission that Mcpl Cyr had been creative with what I told him, and he also failed to mention the receipt of my emails in his notebooks or occurrence reports.

So here, Mcpl Cyr does a Google search for an exact phrase that I searched for the day previous which I mentioned in an email that he fails to indicate that he received.

On the morning of May 4th, 2011 I called Mcpl Cyr and told him more information about the rectory.

Call #3 was the call I made to Mcpl Cyr on May 3rd, 2011
Call #6 was the call I made to Mcpl Cyr on May 4th, 2011

It was during this phone call that Mcpl Cyr informed me that there never was a rectory at the chapel, and that the chapel that I had indicated on my email was a new chapel, the chapel that was on the base when I lived there in ’79 to ’80 was in a different place. He also said that the padre never lived on the base. This phone call is not mentioned anywhere in his log book or his SAMPIS report.

Well, the blueprints for Our Lady or Loreto Chapel show the rectory.

The red circle highlights the Rectory.
The dates on these drawings are hard to make out, but the blueprints were drawn for
The Royal Canadian Air Force HQ. The RCAF ceased to exist in 1968.

See the CFNIS had Captain McRae’s court martial transcript. The CFNIS had the CFSIU investigation paperwork. In that paperwork was this document from McRae’s Court Martial transcript.

Angus McRae’s admission to the Catholic Church that he had been committing “homosexual acts” with several minors over the past couple of years.

Peter was the main witness for the prosecution. Peter’s testimony is completely blanked out in Captain McRae’s court martial transcript. However, the Military Police Complaints Commission was kind enough to summarize how Peter came to be involved with the prosecution of Captain McRae.

In the MPCC final report, the MPCC indicates that the court martial transcripts indicate this about Mr. X
Mr. X is Peter, my babysitter.

Peter was the only boy that Captain McRae was actually charged with abusing, even though the Canadian Forces Special Investigation Unit knew in 1980 that he had been molesting more than just Peter.

In 2011 the CFNIS knew.

In 2011 the Provost Marshal knew.

In 2011 the Judge Advocate General would have known.

In 2011 the Vice Chief of Defence staff would have known.

In 2011 the Chief of Defence Staff would have known.

In 2011 the office of the Minister of National Defence would have know.

As soon as the Alberta Serious Incident Response Team transferred my complaint against Peter from the Edmonton Police Service to the Canadian Forces National Investigation Service the CFNIS would have known who Peter was and what risk my complaint against Peter posed to the Canadian Armed Forces.

And this is why ANY mention of Captain Father Angus McRae was removed from the CFNIS investigation GO 2011-5754.

Someone up the chain of command had made the decision that my complaint against Peter was to go absolutely no where.

The knew the liability risk that this would pose if a connection was made between myself, Peter, and Captain Father Angus McRae.

This is why I fully believe that my father was encouraged to “forget” that his mother was raising my brother and I. There could be absolutely no way of linking Peter to us, especially not in the authority roll as our babysitter.

When I went to Federal Court in 2013 asking for the court to quash the findings of the 2012 MPCC review the Attorney General of Canada argued that the CFNIS were correct to strike any mention of Captain McRae from CFNIS investigation GO 2011-5754 as my complaint had been against Peter S. and not Captain McRae. The Justice hearing my matter agreed with the Attorney General on this point.

I’ll tell you first hand, this lunacy, and this subterfuge is enough to drive a sane person mad.

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 Brother’s statement to the CFNIS

When I made my complaint about the babysitter in March of 2011 I had mentioned that I had witnessed my brother being abused numerous times by P.S. as P.S. would sometimes abuse us each on our own, but would more often than not abuse the two of us together in the basement of my family’s PMQ on babysitting days.

The CFNIS asked if I knew how to contact my brother. I told the CFNIS that the last time that I spoke with my brother was in 2003 when I had ridden my motorcycle up to Edmonton to see Richard.

I suggested to the CFNIS that they could talk to Richard and Richard could put them in contact with my brother. What I didn’t know at the time is that my brother had a falling out of sorts with Richard and Sue and hadn’t spoken with them since around 2007.

I wasn’t too optimistic that Richard would give the CFNIS my brother’s contact information as I was certain that Richard was going to take a very dim view of the fact that I was trying to shirk my responsibility for what I had done on CFB Namao by allowing P.S. to abuse my younger brother.

In August of 2012 on Facebook I was able to track down my brother’s wife at the time, and I asked her to pass my contact information.

My brother contacted me and we talked a bit about things from back then (1978 to 1980).

I even went up to Edmonton for a few days from June 30th, 2013 to July 5, 2013 to see him.

It was during this visit that he had explained to me that he hadn’t spoke with either Richard or Sue since about 2007 due to a funeral that he didn’t want to attend.

At the time I was going through my first go-round with the Military Police Complaints Commission. And up to this point I had not seen a single document from the CFNIS investigation. I was literally flying blind with my complaint against the CFNIS.

My complaint against the CFNIS failed. Basically it came down to:
-Did the CFNIS take my complaint?
-Did the CFNIS contact other victims?
-Did the CFNIS try to contact the accused?
-Did the CFNIS submit anything to the Alberta Crown?
As the CFNIS did this, the MPCC blessed the investigation.
See, the MPCC, like most police review agencies can only look at the mechanics of the investigation. The MPCC cannot judge or second guess the findings of the CFNIS. That’s why in 2020 the MPCC had to bend the rules a little bit and included documents related to my investigation from a parallel investigation.

I decided to file an Application for Judicial Review in the Federal Court of Canada. One thing that I hadn’t anticipated was that the Military Police Complaints Commission would have to provide me with copies of all of the documents that the Canadian Forces and the Canadian Forces National Investigation Service had denied to me during my initial complaint to the MPCC.

I know for a fact that the Alberta Crown was upset and devastated that the MPCC and the CFNIS had given me a copy of the Alberta Crown’s decision to me. Documents like this are “privileged” and are never supposed to end up in the hands of the victims.

Contained within these documents were copies of my brother’s “Will Say” statement as well as the investigator’s notes from the interview.

The following are the interview notes taken by
Petty Officer 1st Class Steve Morris.

Much as I did with my father, I gave my brother a written examination for Federal Court.

The following are the questions that I asked my brother

The following are my brother’s answers to my questions.

Two things stand out for me in this mess.

The first thing that stands out is that it’s almost as if the investigators with the CFNIS are taught to ask vague non-specific questions and worse, to transcribe vague and really open-to-interpretation notes of the interview. Who is “he”. Who is “him”. Who is “they”. That was one thing my grandmother used to get furious with me about when I was learning to write in grades 1, 2, and 3. “Only dogs get MAD, humans get ANGRY” and “NEVER use ‘He’, ‘She’,’They’,’Them’ when you know their names”. For a woman that only had two years of formal education, she sure was very fussy about the proper use of language.

The second thing that stands out is that my brother mentions to the CFNIS that it was Richard that told him about my motorcycle.

In early 2002 I bought a demo motorcycle from a dealer. Paid in full. The first vehicle I ever owned that didn’t have financing attached. Came to about $11k all said and done.

In late 2002 I got cut off by a taxi cab that ran a stop sign. The motorcycle went down on the left hand side, which due to the layout of the crankcase breather sent oil up into the air intake box and hydrolocked #1 piston. ICBC found the driver 100% at fault. ICBC paid the dealer to return the motorcycle to like new condition.

Just outside of the 1 year ICBC warranty period the #1 piston and connecting rod failed at highway speeds just outside of Chilliwack. I got the motorcycle towed back to Vancouver. I went back to the dealer and spoke to the mechanic that had rebuilt the bike. I told him about the engine failure. I asked him if they had torn down the engine and checked the #1 piston and connecting rod for damage. He said that the owner of the motorcycle shop wouldn’t allow the mechanics to tear down the engine even though the engine was obviously hydrolocked. The mechanic removed the spark plug, which due to the hydraulic pressure behind it shot up. There was also a squirt of oil that came out of the spark plug hole. The mechanic said that he did start the engine and it sounded rough for a bit, but then as the oil burned up the engine went back to sounding okay. The cost of labour for tearing down the engine and then rebuilding the engine would have put the bike well over ICBC’s limit for writing the motorcycle off. The mechanic explained that by rebuilding the bike the shop stood to make far more money off the rebuild job than if ICBC had simply written off the motorcycle and had given me a cheque to buy a new motorcycle.

So yeah, I nearly lost my life because someone got greedy. But that’s life I guess.

I contacted a couple of lawyers. They both wanted a $10k retainer (standard from what I understand). I had about $6k in the bank. So I called Richard. This did not go over too well. Richard started ranting about the fact that I couldn’t look after my stuff, that I was always breaking anything that had ever been given to me, that I was obviously too fucking stupid to ride a motorcycle and that I was going to kill someone. He then suggested that I contact my mother and ask “that bitch” to pay for this as she didn’t pay a single damn thing towards my brother and I when Richard was raising us.

Yep. Richard had managed to take the high speed engine failure of my motorcycle caused by the wilful neglect of the dealership and spun it around to him being the victim who had to sacrifice everything to raise my brother and I.

Yeah, that was Richard.

Everyone Else Has Had More Sex Than Me

I’ll see if I can bang this out quickly.

I don’t often put my iPhone on random play, but I did today.

And as I was walking home from Gastown a song that I hadn’t heard in a very long time came on.

It was “Everyone Else Has Had More Sex Than Me” by the Australian band TISM (This is serious Mum).

It’s got a cute flash video with an animated bunny…….

Well?

And this got me to thinking.

How many times in my life have I actually had sex with another person?

And it turns out not too many time really.

I’m not going to include the times with P.S., Captain McRae, the man in the sauna on CFB Namao, the guy from CFB Griesbach, Earl Stevens.

From the time I moved out of the house when I was 16 (1987) until 1998 when I lived in Surrey I had sex with absolutely no one.

I did meet a guy in the Westend around 1996. When we got back to his place he asked me if I was HIV+, I told him no as I wasn’t. He said that he was HIV+ and that he was hoping that I’d agree to sex without a condom as a condom was like trying to eat a chocolate bar with the wrapper still on. I got dressed and left.

In 1998 I decided to try my luck at one of the gay bath houses in New Westminster on Columbia street. Got a hand job and that was that.

Next time I had sex with another person was actually around 2002. Met a woman named Ilona. She moved into my apartment. Initially we had separate beds. She didn’t like that. So we moved the beds together. The sex was interesting so long as I could block out seeing what P.S. had done to the blonde haired girl on CFB Namao. Ilona really wanted kids. I really didn’t want kids, guess that’s a Gill thing. I spent a lot of time going for long walks. Wasn’t her fault. Just I couldn’t handle the depression, the anxiety, and all of the memories from CFB Namao. We broke up sometime around 2004.

Around 2011 my counsellor that I was seeing at the time said that I should try to have relationships with other people.

Now, not being the type of guy to go out for drinks in a bar or to go for a coffee and talk, I tried another gay hang out on Pender street and a few that were up around Davie street.

Just never got into it.

Couldn’t relax.

Couldn’t enjoy it.

In the back of my head I’d always hear Captain Totzke telling me that he had the base military police watching me and that I’d be going to a mental institution because I had a mental illness called “homosexuality”. I’d hear my father threatening to break my fucking neck if he ever caught me kissing another boy.

I guess it comes down to the fact that when you don’t know what you are it’s really hard to know what you like.

I’ve always found sex to be dirty and disgusting.

Is P.S. all to blame for this? Is Earl Ray Stevens to blame for this? Is Captain Terry Totzke to blame for this? Is the man in the sauna to blame for this? Is the man from CFB Griesbach to blame for this? Are the other men that took advantage of me as a result of Earl’s grooming?

Is it my major depression?

Is it my severe anxiety?

Is it my fear of other people?

I’ve always found sex to be about power imbalances. One party forcing the other party to do something they didn’t want to do. P.S. knew that he had full power and control over me and my brother as he was our babysitter. Earl knew that he had full power over me as he had been in the Canadian Armed Forces himself and he knew that I knew that I’d be terrified of the Military Police or my father finding out about what we were doing as I would be in just as much trouble as he would be in.

And with my memories of 1978 through 1987 always haunting me, I don’t think that sexual relationships of any kinda were ever going to be in the cards for me.

So there you have it.

My sex life has really been non-existent.

Not homosexual.

Not heterosexual.

Not anything sexual.

Just no sexual.

People assume that I’m gay because I don’t have girl friends.

Well, I don’t have boyfriends either.

Fuck, I don’t have friends period.