Here’s a message from the Norwich Football Club in Norwich, Norfolk, England.
The message deals with depression and how people can very easily miss the signs if they don’t know what they’re looking for.
Do you think you know what depression looks like?
Do you think you know what depression feels like?
Here’s a message from the Norwich Football Club in Norwich, Norfolk, England.
The message deals with depression and how people can very easily miss the signs if they don’t know what they’re looking for.
Not much really.
Computers?
Nope.
But you’re so good with them?
Nope, I can just RTFM and I have decent logic
Electronics?
Nope.
That’s just common sense and logic again.
Cars / motorcycles?
Nope.
Never have liked cars.
Bicycles?
Nope.
They’e good to ride and easy to fix, but that’s it.
Scooters?
Nope.
Cheap to ride and charge, but that’s it really.
Camping?
Nope.
Travel?
Nope.
Music?
Yes, but just listening to music, anything musical inside of me was successfully killed by my father.
Television / movies?
Nope. Thankfully Richard and Sue didn’t want us in the PMQ while we were kids, so going for long lonely walks as a kid to keep the pain of the cold at bay is what I would do instead of getting hooked on TV as a kid.
Sports.
Fuck no. I loved sports before the events of CFB Namao. But after Captain Totzke said that I could never play sports due to my “homosexuality” I grew to resent sports. Besides, I learnt from my father to despise hockey and such. He didn’t hate hockey. He loved it. He would sit at home screaming and yelling at the TV screen getting pissed of angry and drunk when the Toronto Makebeliefs would lose a game, which was almost every game back in the ’80s. When Richard was ranting and railing against his favourite team you didn’t dare disturb him.
Electronics have always been something that I was able to use on jobs to keep my employment and offset my depressed personailty.
People can detect my issues long before they’ve ever talked to me.
The one thing that I always had was my ability to do techinical work that was far above the pay grade of the job that I was applying for.
When I started working at Lions Gate Lanes in 1992 I wasn’t “one of the guys”. I didn’t hang out with the men’s bowling leagues and shoot the shit about sports teams and tit’s ‘n’ ass like the other mechanics would. But what I did have going for me is that I could repair the CPU and Video boards for the AS-80 scoring system, along with the optical scanners. Repairing the overhead video monitors was extremely beneficial.
I could do the same mechanical work that everyone else was expected to do, but I could use my electronics knowledge to offset that I wasn’t a “team player” like the other guys.
When Lions Gate Lanes closed down in the summer of 1993 I was offered a position at a bowling centre in Mississauga owned by the same company.
The head mechanic out there wasn’t going to be told what he had to do by a West Coast manager. And besides, I wouldn’t drink with the boys, I didn’t get a kick out of the girlie posters in the work shop, and I didn’t shoot the shit with the boys.
People find it odd that I don’t “check” people out or enjoy porn, or pin ups, or talking about sex in general. Y’all can thank Captain Totzke for that odd aspect of my personality.
People often take my lack of interest in girls, not as a general lack of interest in sex, but as a sign that I’m gay.
Yeah, I’ve sucked dick in my life.
But that’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re a homosexual, right?
Not being interested in girls doesn’t have anything to do with the abused you suffered at the hands of the babysitter. Nope. Not being interested in girls = being a homo.
Anyways the head mechanic at Mississauga wasn’t going to have a homo in his shop.
This is why I was able to get my employment insuarnce claim re-opened after they completed their investigation.
When I came back to Vancouver I would end up getting a job at a small bowling cente in East Richmond. The centre was brand new and had only been open since 1989. It had the latest computerized pinsetters. And that was a major problem. Their mechanics couldn’t do any type of electronic repairs or electronic troubleshooting.
I came in and was able to repair just about everything in the centre. Pinsetter CPU boards, I/O boards/ power supplies, AS-90 Scoring system, etc. Plus I could MIG weld which was beneficial as this pinsetter was made from stamped sheet metal and would often suffer cracks.
I never did get sent for factory training at either bowling centre.
You’re far too smart.
But without factory training there would be absolutely no advancement.
I started working in commercial office buildings in 1998.
Working on the building automation systems was a piece of cake as I had a good understanding of electronics and computers.
But more of the same shit.
When you’re dealing with tenants that pay thousands of dollars per month in rent, they want special treatment, and it’s expected that you’ll kiss their asses and tickle their nutsacks whe requested.
Fixing things is what I do.
Blowing sunshine up the ass of some rich trustfund brat who’s running his “own” company because daddy gave him a $500,000.00 loan wasn’t a skill of mine.
Heaping praise on someone who makes their living from trading penny stocks and scamming seniors with investment scams wasn’t a skill that I was very good at.
Want your lights fixed?
I’m your man.
Want your heatpump replaced?
I’m your man.
Want your nutsack tickled because you fell into a CEO position that your father bought for you?
Go fuck yourself.
Bobbie, why didn’t you just go to trade school or take a diploma program?
Well, calling up daddy and stepmommy for a loan or help with getting a loan, or help with a place to live was not in the cards .
At this point in time I had no idea where my mother was, and as I would find out when I located her in 2013 and talked to her, it wouldn’t have been of any use.
And then there’s the problem of my depression and my anxiety and my intense self loathing.
I would have been absolutely terrified of approaching my father for any type of help with as any failure in a trade or diploma program would have only elicited more scorn and derision from him.
So I took Power Engineering. Started with my 5th class refrigeration operator, and then did my 4th class.
I thought that Power Engineering would be something. But its not.
There’s a misconception in property management and plant management that Power Engineers are engineers.
They’re not.
They have an understanding of refrigeration plant operation, boiler plant operating, operating low pressure and high pressure thermal plants, operating low pressure and high pressure steam plants, firing oil fired boilers, natural gas fired boilers, oil fired boilers, black liquor fired boilers, and fluidized bed boilers. They understand thermodynamics, psychrometrics, enthalpy, and other basic principles of physics.
But that’s not what the majority of empoloyers that require power engineers on site hire power engineers for.
The vast majority of employers just hire power engineers to satisfy the basic requirement to meet provincial regulations of having a power engineer on site while the boilers or chillers are in operation.
The vast majority of plants that hire power engineers are looking for “Johnny the janitors” who can look after stuff that janitors can look after, but the employers cheap out and just dump all of the work that doesn’t require a TQ on to the power engineers.
If I had a chance to do my life over again, what would I do?
Probably something in fashion, or theatrics.
Back at Pierre Laporte I used to do the lighting for school productions and I’d look after the sound.
I was good enough at this that Mr. Ford got me a weekend job at a local P.A. rental shop repairing lighting and sound equipment.
I like clothing.
I love dresses and mix and matching with dresses.
As I’ve said numerous times, I’ll never understand why men don’t wear dresses.
For some reason when it comes to dresses and my manner of dressing, I don’t give two fucking shits what anyone thinks.
I don’t identify as a women.
I don’t want to be a woman.
But I love dresses.
I liked make-up when I was into it in the period of 2006 to 2011.
But then again I bought myself a nice little sewing machine a few years ago.
I got rid of it a short while ago.
It was painful looking at it as it sat in my apartment unused.
See, every time I tried to use it Richard was there screaming at me for being such a silly fucker.
My brother doesn’t understand what it’s like having Richard and Terry living in my head.
But they’re there.
Shitting all over anything that I like to do.
Bobbie, why don’t you just move on, get on with your life?
That would be great, but that’s not how this works.
Therapy won’t work.
Pretending that the past never occured won’t work.
Captain Terry Totzke and his ham fisted conversion therapy have pretty well ensured that therapy won’t work.
As I said, it’s not like no one knew about the events of CFB Namao.
Captain Terry Totzke knew.
My father knew.
So this isn’t some sort of secret that I’ve kept within for the last 40 years.
I was lied to by mcpl Robert Jon Hancock, mcpl Christian Cyr, wo Blair Hart, mwo Terry Eisenmenger. Not only was I lied to by these four, they tried to fucking gaslight me. I would also have included Sergeant Damon Tenaschuk of the CFNIS Pacific Region, but I think Sgt. Tenaschuk was the first CFNIS investigator that I met that wasn’t willing to follow the orders of the chain of command like an obedient mindless robot.
What constitutes as gaslighting?
Telling me that there never was any type of fire at PMQ #26 even though they had the Canadian Forces Fire Marshall’s records for that exact fire.
Telling me that there was never a rectory attached to the chapel and that Captain McRae didn’t live on the base, but that he lived off the base.
Telling me that Our Lady of Loretto chapel didn’t exist on the base when I lived there even though the blueprints for the chapel indicated that it was built in 1956 and still stands to this day.
Telling me that the babysitter wasn’t capable of committing the crimes I accused him of even though they had CFSIU DS 120-10-80 in their possession right from the start of the investigation in March of 2011.
Refusing to talk to my father again once my social service paperwork indicated that his statement to the CFNIS was completely implausible.
Lt. Col. Gilles Sansterre outright lied to me when he told me that the CFNIS and the Provost Marshal couldn’t figure out who Fred R. Cunningham was and that he couldn’t have known anything about the Captain Father Angus McRae matter even though Sansterre had access to the CFSIU DS 120-10-80 paperwork and would have known that Warrant Officer Fredrick R. Cunningham was the lead investigator and the military’s witness against Captain McRae.
And that’s what gets me.
They had absolutely no concern for me or my well being. Not from 1978 to 1980. Not from 1980 to 1983. And not from 1983 to the current day. To the Canadian Force.
The CFNIS willingly and intentionally withheld the existence of CFSIU DS 120-10-80 and the court martial transcripts from the Alberta Crown.
The CFNIS willingly and intentionally withheld the existence of the transcripts from Courts Martial CM 62 from the Alberta Crown.
The CFNIS and the Canadian Forces Provost Marshal intentionally withheld CFSIU DS 120-10-80 and CM 62 from the Military Police Complaints Commission in 2012 and the Federal Court of Canada in 2013 in order to sell their narative that “they did the best they could in a historic child sexual abuse matter but that the evidence just wasn’t strong enough”.
So, how does one move on from not just child sexual abuse, but psychological malpractice, and then intentional professional misconduct?
I’ve been trying to engage the media since 2011 over this matter.
Except for David Pugliese, not a single fucking person has ever spoken to me. The Canadian Forces said this, the Canadian Forces said that, don’t you think the Canadian Forces would have done this or that if there was enough evidence?
The media in this country is useless. There is no such thing as investigative reporting anymore. No one goes digging for the story. Especially not when it comes to DND and the CAF.
David has been outright forthcoming with how the DND and the CAF have both threatened him with access to government officials and offical news information if he kept digging up dirt.
Others though seem as if they don’t want to risk losing advertising dollars or government contracts by making the DND and the CAF uncomfortable.
Don’t believe me?
In 2014 I was supposed to have been interviewed by Maclean’s as part of their bombshell stories on sexual abuse in the Canadian Forces. Everything was a go pretty well until the day of the interview.
Turns out that the parent company of Macleans had just days before signed a multi-year contract with the federal government to provide cellular phone service to the DND and the CAF.
The day I arrived at this magazine’s offices in Toronto I was told that the editior who wanted to run my story abruptly stopped working for Macleans and that Macleans wasn’t interested in running attack pieces on the Canadian Forces any more and that this topic was best left for the DND and the CAF to sort out.
I was told by Alberta Crown prosecutors Jon Werbicki and Alberta Chief Crown Prosecutor Orest Yeriniuk that I simply waited too long and that it wouldn’t be in the best interests of the public to bring charges against , meanwhile just a week or two ago it was announced in the Canadian Media that a 97 year old nun was charged with three counts of gross indecency from the 1960s.

What the actual fuck?
Oh yeah, it happened at a residential school and not a Canadian Forces Base. And it was investigated by police officers of the Ontario Provincial Police, not soldiers posing as police officers of the Canadian Forces National Investigation Service.
Attacking the residential schools is okay because society expects these literal hellholes to be places of abuse.
It’s the year 2023, almost everyone expects to hear of new stories about the church involved with child molestation.
No one dares attack the Canadian Forces as they’re our defenders and surely our defenders wouln’t have turned a blind eye to child sexual abuse on the bases, right?
So no, there will be no therapy.
There can’t be.
Counsellors have no idea of what life was like on military bases.
Counsellors have never heard of child sexual abuse on the bases.
Counsellors will never be able to overcome the one major hurdle, and that is the simple lack of an acknowledgement.
The only way in which a counsellor could hope to do anything is to gaslight me on a major scale.
So, just sitting down eating a bite for lunch and enjoying a soy cappuccino.
I’m probably going to ride my scoot over to the VCC-Clark skytrain station and take a run out to Value Village in Coquitlam and maybe the one out in Port Coquitlam.
People have asked me repeatedly how I can live without a car.
I say very easily.
I haven’t owned a car since 1998 when I moved downtown.
But even before that, when I did own cars, I usually couldn’t afford to drive them.
I bought a 1977 VW Rabbit when I was 15. This was so that I could get a membership at the base auto club. The car really wasn’t drivable, but it was something that I could learn mechanics on from guys like Bill Parker and Bob Wrightson at the autoclub.
In a way I wish I had never been a member of the autoclub. My brother had a friend named Greg. Greg was younger than me, but much like my brother they were both built larger than me.
I stayed clear of Greg. Avoided him at all costs.
Anyways somehow Greg got it in his head that because I could tinker on cars that I was going to fix his V6 Chevy Nova.
Straight fours is all I had ever worked on at the autoclub. Never had touched an American car, especially not a V-anything. Anways, I was at work on night at Bob Becker’s workshop when my brother, Greg, and a few of their buddies show up. My brother told Greg that I could fix cars, so therefore I was going to fix Greg’s car. The car that showed up with no distributor, no ignition coil, no spark plugs, and no spark plug wires. These were all in a jumble in the trunk of the car.
As could be expected, I couldn’t fix the car.
Greg and his buddies caught up with me at a Plaza on Keele just to the south of the entrance to the base. Fuck did they ever beat the shit out of me. And it wasn’t like it was anywhere near a fair fight. I was maybe 110 lbs tops. There was Greg. Greg had to be about 5″ taller than me and maybe weighed close to 150 to 160 lbs. And the other 3 were about the same size and stature. There was also this older guy, can’t remember his name, but he had to be around 40 or 50 years old.
I remember avoiding home and instead heading over to Billy Donuts on Wilson Ave.
The owner called the cops.
But ratting out on Greg would have been the end of me so I refused to say anything.
I knew that telling Richard would have been an absolute waste of time.
This was pretty well when I started to make sure that no one knew that I had any interests in cars or fixing things.
The first road worthy car that I ever owned was in Edmonton, AB.
I bought that car in August of 1990.
I made a mistake and I quit the job that I had prior to ensuring that the job I was going to was going to work out.
So I ended up on welfare.
A guy in my apartment building noticed that I liked to work on cars so he asked me if I wanted to make some extra money under the table working on cars for his brother. Who could turn down extra money to make ends meet when you’re on welfare. Welfare barely paid the rent at the time, let alone bought goceries.
I worked on a few cars for his brother Adam who owned a used car dealership on the south east side of Edmonton.
There were some sketchy things going on in that shop. So I didn’t stay very long.
It wouldn’t be until sometime in the 2010s that I would find out that in the years after I had involvement with Adam that some skectchy shit really was going down in that shop.
The car that I bought in 1990 was my transport when I decided to leave the welfare rolls in Alberta and try my luck in Vancouver in February of 1992.
I spent so much time on and off living in that car. The best place for car camping at the time was Stanley Park. There were also industrial areas that one could camp out in.
Around the spring of 1993 I couldn’t afford to keep the car any longer so I got rid of it for free with a scrap dealer.
I ended up moving back to Toronto around the fall of 1993. That didn’t work out so well so I ended up back in Vancouver by May of 1994.
I lived down at the Sally Anne until about August of 1994.
From ’94 to ’95 I primarily rode the bus, rode a bicycle, or walked to work from New Westminster to East Richmond.
In 1996 I got my hands on a very good condition 1984 Diesel Rabbit.
Kept that until I moved downtown in 1998.
I’ve owned a few motorcycles through my life, but I’ve only kept them for a few seasons.
Most were used, only one was new of a showroom floor.
That one was written off by a cab driver that ICBC found 100% at fault for the incident.
After getting cut off by that cab driver and seeing how easily someone else could end my life for the sake of beating a green light I realized that motorcycling wasn’t for me.
My greatest fear of getting injured in a motorcycle collision isn’t dying. It’s surviving. Motorcycle helmets really don’t protect the rider when struck by another vehicle. Motorcycle helmets, much like bicycle helmets are meant to protect the rider from incidents involving the motorcycle rider alone.
My father had a friend named Jacques Choquette. One night while Jacques was riding home on his motorcycle Jacques hit a pedestrian. Jacques ended up losing part of his skull and part of his brain. The guy was a fucking psychotic nutcase after the incident. No impulse control. Anger outbursts from nowhere. Seizures. Jacques was the one who tried to strangle me in the basement of the PMQ on CFB Downsview while my father stood to the side chuckling.
That’s what I’m most afraid of. Ending up with brain damage and having to live for 40 or 50 years like a fucking psycho like Jacques.
I bought a motorcycle back in 2020 at the start of the pandemic. I rode it for that first summer. It has sat in the under ground parking lot since.
I wanted to do some modification to it, but my depression told me that I’d get started and never finish the fucking thing off like I never finish anything else off.
So all in all, I’d say that even though I’ve had my driver’s licence since I was 17, I’ve actually only driven a car for maybe 5 years of my life. That’s about 14% of my adult driving life.
Total riding time of motorcycles would be less than 8%.
Riding bicycles would be close to 20%, riding the bus would be another 20%, walking would be almost 46% if not more. I’m probably a little high on the bicycle and the bus.
I think that I can credit my father and his driving skills and his belittling attitude.
Richard could be a complete asshole behind the wheel.
Everyone else on the road was a stupid asshole, a stupid cunt, a fucking idiot, or some fucking goddamn asshole that got their licence from a cracker jack box.
This is why he was forever rear ending other vehicles.
I could never figure out why he would never get his pride and joy fixed after various collisions. But as I would learn later in life, you never wanted to claim against your insurance for any accident that you were at fault for. That’s how the ’83 Mustang GT went from being a showroom new car in 1983 to a wreck with the driver’s seat falling through the floor and needing wood to hold it in place by the time I moved out of the house in 1987.
The collisions I know of from being in the car when they happened were the time he rear-ended a Jaguar over by the Don Valley parkway. Slammed right into the back of the car at an intersection. As usual it was my fault becuase if I hadn’t asked him for a ride to work this would never have happened.
The next time was on Keele Street just before we got back on to base. He rear ended a Metropolitan Toronto Police Service cruiser. And this was back in the day when they were bright white with yellow reflective strips. I didn’t stick around to see who he blamed the collision on. I just walked home.
Richard wasn’t adverse to throttle blips to let the driver infront of him at the lights know that he was displeased with the fact that because they were driving so slow he got caught behind them at the light.
He also had this habit of passing cars as we were coming to intersections and once he passed through the intersection he’d start swearing at the light to change and teach that silly fucker a lesson.
Of course there were also the times that he drove drunk.
He wrote off his 1969 Ford Thunderbird that he had bought with his retention bonus. Wrote that car off around 1975. Wrote it off in the PMQs of Canadian Forces Base Shearwater. That put me in the hospital for stitches.
The next time that he crashed a car due to drinking was after our mother left in 1976 / 77. He had gone to the junior ranks mess on CFB Summerside and was driving back home to our PMQ at 353 High Street in Summerside. Somewhere on the highway he crossed the centre line and clipped an on coming car.
My brother and I were more or less unscathed. But I ended up with a fat lip after the other driver asked my father if he had been drinking and I told the other driver that my father was drink at the bar on base. Guess I wasn’t supposed to rat out the rage fueled alcoholic, was I?
Maybe that’s why I don’t care much for driving. My father’s rage behind the wheel and his alcoholism ruined driving for me.
Also, not having help with my cars in the early days made me realize just exactly how much of a fucking money pit cars are and how one’s paycheque just goes into the endless pit of car culture.
Do people really feel more comfortable not knowing the time of their death versus knowing the time of their death?
I’ve had people say to me that the would rather not know when they are going to die.
For me, it’s different.
Everyone dies.
For me, knowing the approximate time of my death is nice as I can start making plans to wind down my life. There’s a lot of issues to be taken care of before one’s death.
For me I get to plan out my final months, my final weeks, my final days, and my final hours.
I get to be put to sleep where and when I want to.
I get to have my corpse disposed of as I wish.
I can even invite whomever I wish to my death.
Prior to deciding to apply for Medical Assistance in Dying I was always terrified of actually living to my 70s or 80s.
Not knowing when I would be able to die is what panicked me the most. How long would my fucked up brain keep replaying this shit. How long would my fucked up brain keep sabotaging shit. Everything that I try to do my depression fucks with.
Now, knowing that I have the possibility of dying when I’d like to die, which is sooner than later, I have found myself in somewhat of a calm and serene mood.
As I have said before it’s no fun suffering from major depression and severe anxiety. Especially not when your own father would tell anyone who would listen that it was all just an act for attention.
It’s no fun having the events of CFB Namao playing over and over in my head. It’s no fun having the memories of Terry and my father playing over and over.
Always being stuck in a state of wondering how different things would have been if matters had been looked after properly on Canadian Forces Base Namao. Or how different things would have been if Andy hadn’t been drinking that evening. Or how different things would have been if Angus McRae had been thrown out of the military the first time he molested kids on base.
The memories of of the abuse are burnt into my brain.
They’re not going anywhere.
It’s not my job to “try harder” to forget about them.
And pretending the events on CFB Namao didn’t occur is just as bad as remembering them as forgetting the events will leave empty holes that will just bring the memories right back.
Society in general doesn’t seem to have a problem with death.
Society, espeically the religious, seems to be very intolerant of a person chosing to die.
Simply look at the number of deaths from vehicle collisions each and every year.
Society is willing to accept the deaths from Car Culture as just a small price to pay for driver convenience.
Limiting horsepower, mandating GPS based speed limiters, banning vehicles from municipal streets that don’t have pedestrian friendly crumple zones are all proven methods to reducing the CARnage on our public streets.
But society won’t take those simple steps as that would hurt car sales.
Deaths on the public streets have gotten so out of control that local governments and police forces go out of their way to victim blame in these circumstances as a means of ensuring the municipality / state / province won’t be held liable for unsafe street designs, insufficient speed enforcement, etc.

That’s 785,000 deaths in 20 years due to the belief that Bubba-Joe needs a 400hp car to drive 5 blocks to the 7-11 to pick up Ding-Dongs and smokes.
But for some weird and bizarre reason, society is very, very reluctant to approve of death in order to be relieved of mental health issues.
It’s almost as if society is okay with death as long as the person dying isn’t seen as having a say in their own death.
This no doubt is a result of the belief of imaginary friends in the sky and the concept of “life after death”.
People seem to be comforted by the idea that they will still somehow exist after their death. People seem to be comforted by the idea that they will go to a land of happiness and eternal sunshine if they keep their imaginary friend happy.
When we die, we die.
That’s it.
That’s all.
And there is nothing wrong with that.
That’s the way life works.
I think it’s a fucking shame that religious people think that I need to be made to suffer in life so that I can make their imaginary friend happy with the notion that if I keep their friend happy then I can float up to a paradise in the clouds and enjoy eternal happiness.
Maybe it’s also a way for the religious to avoid taking responsibility for hell on Earth.
My life was altered into a sick fucking joke starting in 1978. I didn’t have a say in this.
I only get one life.
Maybe that’s the difference between me and the religious.
I accept the fact that we only get one life.
I don’t simply shrug my shoulders in the belief that the magical sky-daddy will open his arms to me if I suffer, and that the magical sky-daddy will even let me have another turn on Earth.
I am the result of Richard’s and Marie’s DNA mixing, plus a lifetime of lived experiences.
I will never exist again. No one similar to me will ever exist again.
I could choose to suffer like an imbecile.
Or I can choose to die and be freed from all of this nonsense.
I choose with my brain to be freed.
One thing that I have realized is that people living in our society really don’t have as much control over their lives as people believe that they do.
For some reason people have more control over the lives of others that they do over their own.
I don’t remember being asked if I’d like to be born.
My parents were horny, they fucked, he ejaculated and didn’t pull out, and nine months later I popped out.
Did I ask to be born to two parents that were already suffering mental illnesses? My father battling depression and alcoholism, my mother suffering from anxiety.
Did I ask to be born to an alcoholic father?
Did I ask to be raised by a residential school survivor who had her own severe mental health issues?
And puhlease, don’t tell me that I should be happy that I was blessed with the miracle of life.
There’s over 7.8 billion people on the face of the planet.
Pregnancy, birth, and life are not a “miracle”.
And if your argument is that I should be happy that I don’t live in an underdeveloped country, well fuck you. I live in this country. I was raised in this country. I was abused by fellow citizens of this country. I was fucked over by institutions of this country. You don’t get to negate the shit I live through by erecting fanciful strawmen and bad faith fallacies.
Contrary to the teachings of Captain Terry Totzke and master corporal Richard Gill, I didn’t deserve the sexual abuse from Captain McRae and his teenage accomplice, P.S.
And contrary to the opinions of Captain Terry Totzke and my father, I didn’t deserve 2-1/2 years of conversion therapy.
I was a concious decision of Captain Totzke to deny my of the treatments I required for my mental health issues.
Sure, Totzke may have only been following the orders of his superiors. But he still made a decision. I had no say in the matter.
My father went along with the decision to deny me my treatment. Yeah, sure, Totzke outranked my father, but my father still had choices at his disposal. He made a choice to play along.
When my father had his meltdown in the PMQ on Canadian Forces Base Downsview in Ontario, somebody within the military police made the decision to not notify the Metropolitan Toronto Police Service thereby ensuring that Richard’s inability to control his anger wouldn’t be reported to the Children’s Aid Society of Toronto.
Somebody in the Canadian Forces chain of command made the conciousous decision to run a “dog & pony show” investigation in 2011. Somebody made this decision even though they knew full well that due to limited resources, only victims of crimes have access to mental heatlh treatments.
Somebody in the Canadian Forces chain of command made the conciousous decision to hide the information contained in the CFSIU DS 120-10-80 investigation paperwork from the Alberta Crown prosecutor in 2011 thereby forcing the Alberta Crown to make a horrific decision.
Somebody in the Canadian Forces chain of command decided to hide the existence of CFSIU DS 120-10-80 from the Military Police Complaints Commission in 2012 thereby ensuring that the MPCC wouldn’t discover until 2020 that the CFNIS in 2011 knew all about the criminal exploits of P.S..
Somebody in the Office of the Judge Advocate General made the decision to not allow the CFNIS to talk to former base commander Daniel Edward Munro in 2017 due to the inability to lay charges against Munro due to the 3-year-time-bar that existed only in the military prior to 1998.
So, as you can see, a lot of people made decisions for me or they made decisions that directly affected me.
Hopefully I get to make the one decision that I should be allowed to make, and that is to end my life through Medical Assistance in Dying.
Today was a busy day.
Had a dental appointment first thing.
And as my dentist is just doors down from my physician I booked two appointments.
The first appointment is for my prescription refil.
I get 90 days of pills at a time. So I always try to book an appoinment a couple of weeks before my meds run out.
Trust me. You do not want to run out of and stop your SSRI meds abruptly.
The second appointment is for my application for Medical Assistance in Dying.
The one thing that I did glean from the lunch seminar with Dying with Dignity is that M.A.i.D. assessors are expecting a spike in applications when M.A.i.D. is legalized for Mental Illness.
At the same time these M.A.i.D. assessors are expecting that the vast majority of requests for M.A.i.D. for Mental Illness will not be approved.
As much as I am worried about my application for M.A.i.D. not being approved, I think that I still stand a very good chance of having my request approved due to the very unique nature of my mental health issue.
I also had the chance to meet face to face with a former co-worker from our days at a bowling centre in Surrey.
I don’t think we’d seen each other face to face since back then.
We kept in touch on Facebook for a while, but then I nuked my Facebook account. She discovered a posting of mine on Instagram after I opened an Instagram account as required to get a Threads account.
It was a nice little lunch.
We talked about her new job in the probation office.
We talked about my job at the hospital.
We talked a bit about the past.
And then she asked about M.A.i.D.
So we talked a bit about M.A.i.D.
She had some good questions.
Hopefully I had some good answers.
After lunch was up I walked her back to the court house where her office is located.
I don’t think she had ever seen my blog before I opened an Instagram account, and I know for sure that she hadn’t seen anything about my plans for M.A.i.D. before my instagram account as I had never really talked about my desire for death until after I nuked my Facebook account a few years ago.
She wasn’t shocked by my desire. Especially after having read some of my blog.
And she was of the opinion that a decision like this is a personal choice and that no one has the right to question someone’s personal choice like this.
And this is what I like.
Listening to the media you’d swear that only 1 in 1,000,000 Canadians support Medical Assistance in Dying for Mental Illness.
But I think that the reality is that most level headed Canadians view M.A.i.D. for Mental Illness as solely a personal choice.
Well, this doesn’t bode well for me.
Dying with Dignity Canada had a webinar earlier today that I had submitted some questions to.
Two of my questions were asked to the guests, but they were editied in such a way as to remove most of the meat from the question.
Regardless, I didn’t get the answer that I was looking for.
The sense that I get is that Dying with Dignity is trying to stay very far, far away from the topic of Medical Assistance in Dying for Mental Illness.
And what the two providers had to say wasn’t promising at all.
Basically, I’m functional. I can function on a daily basis. So therefore I will probably be unable to obtain medical assistance in dying.
In basic terms, I’m a fucking industrial robot. As long as I can perform the tasks required of me I’m A.O.K.!

Even if I was “non-functional” I would have had to undergo years and years of counselling and therapy in order to obtain M.A.i.D. for mental illness.
Now, you might be wondering, just like the M.A.i.D. assessors will probably be wondering……. “Bobbie, why didn’t you obtain treatment for your mental illnesses?????”
Well, remember, even though I was diagnosed at age 9 with major depression, severe anxiety, an intense fear of being touched, a fear of men, etc., my social worker at the time, Canadian Armed Forces officer Captain Terry Totzke actively and intentionally prevented me from obtaining mental health treatment as it was a risk for the Canadian Armed Forces.
The Canadian Forces conspired to do everything possible to keep the story of Captain Father Angus McRae out of the media. The military even moved the entire courts martial “in-camera” citing the need to “protect the morals of Canadians”.
The last thing that Captain Totzke was going to allow was for me to obtain treatment for me mental health issues. That would involve me going for counselling, or therapy, maybe even time in a psychiatric facility for children.
The risk this posed is that I would open my mouth and start talking. And back then there was still enough interest in the media over the Captain McRae courts martial that the media would have torn into the Canadian Armed Forces.
So, instead I recevied “conversion therapy” at the hands of military social worker Captain Terry Totzke.
For 2-1/2 years I was labelled as a mentally ill homosexual by Captain Terry Totzke.
For 2-1/2 years I was blamed by Captain Totzke for what had happened to me on CFB Namao. I was blamed for what happened to my brother on CFB Namao. I wasn’t allowed to play sports.
Home life at the time and thereafter was a fucking nightmare for two reasons.
First was that my father was a lowly master corporal at the time. Captains greatly outrank master corporals. If a captain says that your son is a pole smoking homo, then your son is a pole smoking homo.
Second was that at the time the Canadian Armed Forces was an extremely homophobic environment. No service member wanted it known that they had a homosexual living in their PMQ.
Even after Alberta Social Services became involved with my family, Captain Totzke interfered with the attempts of Alberta Social Services to remove me from the home and appears to have been instrumental in assisting my father flee the jurisdiction of Alberta for Ontario.
And even though Captain Totzke had declared that I was a mentally ill homosexual, I was still dealing with major depression, severe anxiety, and a plethora of other issues on my own.
My father had his own helpful therapies to help me with these issues. One therapy involved backhands across the face. One therapy involved bare ass spankings with a leather belt. Another therapy was the “get the fuck up to your room and you’re not having supper” therapy. And of course there was the all time favourite “yelling and screaming like a drill instructor” therapy.
So, from my diagnoses in in October of 1980 until the discovery of my social service records in August of 2011 I was left to my own devices dealing with the wars and the shit and the terrors and the memories in my brain.
And as I learnt in 2011, dealing with this shit 30 years after the fact doesn’t do anything.
I did counselling with counsellors from Practitioner Renewal and even the Employee and Family Assistance Program.
I tried therapy with the BC Society for Survivors of Male Sexual Abuse.
I even went to meetings with the local chapter of SNAP.
None of this works.
Absolutely none.
Trying to explain what I’ve been through is a fucking nightmare. Civilians have no fucking idea of what life was like on the bases, especially for sexually abused children.
The fact that it is legally impossible to bring charges against persons subject to the Code of Service Discipline for Service Offences committed prior to 1998 means that absolutely no one has heard of child sexual abuse on the bases.
The fact that the Canadian Forces can be so very secretive with the information that they have means that the truth never gets out.
So when people like me try to get help, we’re literally laughed at.
And then there’s the fact that I don’t have a crack habit, or a heroin habit, or a drinking habit……..
YOU’RE NOT AN ADDICT!!!
YOU DIDN’T SUFFER!!!!
ONLY ADDICTS SUFFER YOU FUCKING WHINY ASSHOLE!!!!
We spend so much on addicts that there is sweet fuck all left over for those suffering from mental illnesses who aren’t addicts.
Chemical therapy and self blame is all that is offered these days.
Back around 1985 the Children’s Aid Society of Toronto said that due to staffing levels, budgetary constraints, and my father’s refusal to participate with the case workers that the CAST wouldn’t be able to get involved with my family unless there were credible reports of abuse from the community. We lived on Canadian Forces Base Downsview at the time. There never would be “credible reports from the community”. Military members don’t rat out other members and the military washes its own laundry. This secrecy is how John Ryan Turner was starved to death and beat to death in his father’s PMQ on Canadian Forces Base Gagetown in 1994 and no one heard a thing.
And now it looks as if Medical Assistance in Dying is going to be beyond my grasp.
There are no therapies to fix my brain or to erase my memories.
I’m not going to subject myself to psychiatrists and psychologists blaming me for my problems.
I don’t want elctrocunvulsive therapy.
And don’t even mention to me sham “therapies” like CBT and mindfulness and other “we don’t really know how to fix the human brain so we’re going to set you up so that we can blame you for not trying”
My practitioner has said that he’s more than willing to help me with my application in March, but after watching the Dying with Dignity webinar today I don’t think that my application will go anywhere.
I guess I’m going to have to start getting serious about “alternative methods”.
I don’t remember asking my parents to fuck in December of 1970.
I don’t remember being asked if I’d like to be born.
I don’t really remember being asked if I’d like an alcoholic residential school survivor as a primary care giver.
I don’t really remember being asked if I’d like a rage prone alcohol fueled piss-tank for a father.
I don’t remember being asked by the babysitter if I’d like to have his penis in my mouth, or in my ass, or to have any of the other sexual acts that the did to me done to me.
I don’t remember being asked by Captain McRae if I would like to get intoxicated off a glass of wine so that he could do whatever he did while I was blacked out.
I don’t really remember being asked if I’d like to have conversion therapy from a military social worker.
But what I don’t want is to go on living with the remnants of untreated depression, untreated anxiety, and all of the other issues gifted to me by the events back then.
I do want to die.
I don’t want to be here any longer.
I am fucking tired.
I am fucking burnt out.
With all of the fucking horseshit that I’ve been through I’d like to be able to go out on my own with some form of dignity.
Dignity that I’ve never had in my entire life.
Surely going by M.A.i.D. or going by suicide will be the same thing, right?
Nope.
Suicide is painful.
Suicide is cruel.
Suicide is not always successful.
Suicide gives the Canadian Armed Forces what they want.
If I am forced to go by suicide then the CAF can point to me and tell everyone that will listen that I was just some “societal malcontent with an axe to grind against the military” and that I was just a fucking crazy nutbar.
If I am allowed to have Medical Assistance in Dying, I get to die without pain, I get to die with dignity. And the Canadian Armed Forces wouldn’t dare say fuck all.
I don’t think that we’ll ever know how the CFNIS in March of 2011 knew to obtain CFSIU DS 120-10-80 and the Court Martial transcripts for CM62 from the JAG archives.
The Security of Information Act pretty well ensures that the truth about anything that ever happened on a defence establishment will be forever buried in the past.
Master Warrant Officer Terry Eisenmenger, Warrant Officer Blair Hart, Master Corporal Robert Jon Hancock, and Master Corporal Christian Cyr weren’t more than a twinkle in their father’s eye at the time of the events on CFB Namao.
So how the fuck would they know about the existence of the paperwork?
It’s probably something automated in their incident reporting and recording software called SAMPIS. Enter the babysitter’s name or enter Captain McRae’s name and a warning will pop up instructing the person to contact someone up the chain of command for further instructions.
Was it the Provost Marshal in 2012 that made the decision to withhold the existence of CFSIU DS 120-10-80 from the Military Police Complaints Commission? Or was it someone superior to the Provost Marshal, like the Vice Chief of Defence Staff? The VCDS has the authority under the National Defence Act to direct any CFNIS investigation and also has the authority to direct the actions of the Provost Marshal.
The Vice Chief of Defence Staff takes their orders from the Chief of Defence Staff, and the CDS acts upon instructions from the Minister of National Defence.
You have to admit that the MoD, the CDS, the VCDS all have very strong political and parochial motives for wanting to keep the Captain Father Angus McRae matter dead and buried in the past.
Sure, lawsuits are one thing.
But lawsuit settlements don’t come out of the DND or the CAF budgets. It’s the Canadian taxpayer that pays for these, so really the DND and the CAF don’t give two shits about lawsuits. it’s not their fucking money to worry about.
Allowing the Canadian public to discover that the Canadian Armed Forces willingly sacrificed the mental health and wellbeing of sexually abused children by not only denying them justice, but also blaming them for their own misfortune, and then giving them “conversion therapy” would be too damaging to the image and prestige of the Canadian Armed Forces for the chain of command to allow for this to happen.
And the fact that the CFNIS were able to pull this off so flawlessly in my matter indicates to me that this isn’t the first time they’ve done this.
I know of one person who committed suicide and whose family blames the events on CFB Namao and the way the military handled it for this person’s suicide.
I know of at least one person who attempted suicide due to the events of CFB Namao.
I’m intending to undergo M.A.i.D. in order to get away from the events of CFB Namao and my conversion therapy and my subsequent dealings with the Canadian Armed Forces.
How many other kids or adults committed suicide as the result of their sexual abuse on Canadian Forces Bases?
No one knows.
And no one cares.
Steven Truscott, a former military dependent from RCAF Station Centralia nearly died due to the actions of RCAF Sgt. Alexander Kalichuk. Even though Kalichuk was never directly implicated in the sexual intercourse with and the subsequent murder of Lynn Harper, Kalichuk is actually the sole suspect in the abduction, sexual intercourse, and murder of another child.
Donald Joseph Sullivan joined the Canadian Armed Forces in the late ’70s to early ’80s after the Ottawa Police Service started to investigate him for molesting numerous boys when Sullivan was a boy scout leader.
In 1984 Sullivan was arrested and given a military courts martial for molesting a group of boys on CFB Gagetown in New Brunswick.
Remeber, Sullivan JOINED the Canadian Forces even though the Ottawa police Service had an active investigation going against him. So there obviously was nothing in the way of a meaningful criminal record check for persons enlisting into the Canadian Armed Forces.
Captain Angus McRae was investigated in 1974 for committing “acts of homosexuality” at CFB Kingston in Ontario. Captain McRae was investigated in May of 1980 for committing “acts of homosexuality” with young boys on CFB Namao. Is “acts of homosexuality” Canadian Forces speak for sexually abusing young male children? Does this mean that McRae was known by the Canadian Forces to have molested children on CFB Kingston? Was Captain McRae allowed to remain in the Canadian Forces becuase his commanding officer, during the summary review of the charges, dismissed the charges brought against Captain McRae? After all, when McRae was charged in 1980, McRae first underwent an Ecclesiastical trial with the Archdiocese of Edmonton in which he confessed to having had sexual relations with boys for years.
How many kiddie diddler priests did the Canadian Armed Forces move around from base to base thereby allowing these kiddie diddlers to molest an untold number of children across the country.
How many teenage pedophiles like P.S. did the Canadian Forces move around from base to base in Canada? P.S. was involved in the molestation of over 25 children on CFB Namao from 1978 until 1980. His family was moved to CFB Petawawa in Ontario in the summer of 1980. P.S. was charged and convicted with molesting an 8 year old boy in a town just north of the base in 1982. In 1984 P.S. was charged and convicted with molesting an 8 year old in Manitoba on an unnamed Canadian Forces Base there. And in 1985, after his father was posted back to Canadian Forces Base Namo, P.S. was charged and convicted with molesting a 9 year old boy on Canadian Forces Base Namao and a 13 year old boy in the city of Edmonton. After P.S. was charged with molesting the 9 year old on CFB Namao, the Canadian Armed Forces gave the babysitter’s father Jack an ultimatum, have P.S. move out of the military housing immediately or the Canadian Forces would kick the entire family out of the military housing.
How many other men like Donald Jospeh Sullivan did the Canadian Armed Forces allow to enlist even though they were known pedophiles? How many military children was Sullivan allowed to prey upon. And don’t forget, all of the boys that Sullivan was charged with molesting were over the magical age of 14. How many kids under the age of 14 did Sullivan molest on CFB Gagetown that he was never charged with so that the Canadian Forces could keep jurisdiction of the matter?
How many men like Sgt Alexander Kalichuk did the Royal Canadian Navy, the Royal Canadian Army, and the Royal Canadian Air Force, and the Canadian Armed Forces have in their employ that murdered military children, or children in towns adjacent to bases that have never been charged due to screwups with the military justice system.
There are a lot of persons within the Department of National Defence, the Canadian Armed Forces, and the Department of Justice who have the power to keep these secrets buried in the past.
I’ve come to realize that I was marked as disposable collateral by the Canadian Armed Forces in May of 1980.
I’ve also come to realize that the Canadian Armed Forces have absolutely no interest in truth, honour, or integrity.
The Canadian Armed Forces and the Department of National Defence are all about lies, subterfuge, coverups, and maintaining their prestiege no matter the cost.
I have absolutely no interest in carrying on knowing full well that the DND and the CAF are so free of ethics ond morals that they don’t care how their decisions both past and present have fucked up and destroyed lives and families.
I just want out.
In the absolute least there is no help for what ails me so long as there is no acknowledgement as to what occured on CFB Namao with the babysitter and Captain McRae, nor is there any help for me so long as there is no acknowledgement for what Captain Terry Totzke subjected me to.
What ever paltry pittance the Department of Justice will offer me and the rest of the victims from CFB Namao will obviously be without any strings and without any ackowledgement and without any apology.
This is why I look forward to my death.
This life of mine has been rendered meaningless by the lies of the Canadian Armed Forces both back in 1980 and in the current day.
I was denied so many opportunities in life by the decisions of the chain of command in 1980 and by the conversion therapy from Captain Totzke, and by the interference from Captin Totzke with Alberta Social Services.
Being denied treatment for my mental health issues in 1980 by Captain Terry Totzke has had very horrific impacts on all aspects of my life.
Anyways, enough for now.
We’ll talk again soon.
So, as it turns out a coworker and their spouse have discovered my blog, and they’ve been reading it.
We had a little talk on Thursday about the contents of my blog.
Of course they haven’t had the chance to digest the entire blog, so I thought that I would write this post which quickly recaps everything I feel to be of importance.
At the end I’ll recap my reasons for desiring Medical Assistance in Dying.
I was born into a very dysfunctional military family.
My father’s mother had been through Indian Residential school as a child and bore the emotional damage that one could expect. Grandma was a full fledged alcoholic by the time she was in her late teens / early twenties. She had my uncle Norman when she was about 16. She had my father when she was 23. Uncle Norman was full Cree. My father was half Cree half Irish.
My grandmother raised my father and my uncle Doug on her own and she obviously transferred her emotional damage to my father as he was already a very heavy drinker when he joined the Royal Canadian Navy in 1963 at age 17. His academic abilities were nothing to be proud of as his grade 9 math had to be upgraded before he could officially join the navy. His academic skills left a lot to be desired and he was of no help to me with school related topics.
In fact, teachers calling home would often enrage him beyond all reason. To him, school was a daycare centre where children were sent to keep their mouths shut and to stare at the chalkboard.
I was born in 1971. And since the day I was born until age 16 I lived in military housing. 7 PMQs on five different bases in four different provinces by the time I was 12.
My mother left in 1976. She couldn’t take my father’s drinking or physical abuse any longer. Due to the unique nature of military dependents (children and non-serving spouses) living in military housing, my father was able to have the base military police remove my mother from the PMQ and to bar her from contacting my brother and I.
My father brought his alcoholic and emotionally damaged mother into the PMQ to raise my brother and I. She lived with us in the PMQ attached to Canadian Forces Base Summerside from 1976 until the spring of 1978 when she returned to Edmonton, AB. During her time with us on Summerside she put me into Sunday school and we also had involvement with the Knights of Columbus.
In the spring of 1978 my father obtained a compassionate posting from Captain Lynda Tyrell, military social worker for the Atlantic region of the Canadian Forces. The Canadian Forces paid to relocate him to Canadian Forces Base Namao just north of Edmonton, AB. Richard took my brother and I with him from Prince Edward Island to Alberta without sole custody and without the permission of our mother. Doing so is a criminal code offence called “kidnapping”.
The ability of serving members to use the Canadian Forces to transfer them and their children to a different jurisdiction from which the freshly ejected spouse was residing in was documented in a 1996 study commissioned by the Canadian Armed Forces titled “Canadian Forces response to Spousal Abuse”.
If it wasn’t for my grandmother calling my mother in the fall of 1978, I don’t think my mother would have known where we ended up moving to.
In August of 1978, Canadian Armed Forces officer Captain Father Angus McRae had been posted to Canadian Forces Base Namao from Canadian Forces Station Holberg due to allegations that he had inappropriate relations with a teenage boy on the station.
On CFB Shearwater and CFB Summerside my father was rarely home. He was happy to have his career in the military as it gave him a reason to not be at home raising his children. He could go off on “military exercises”, drink and hang out with the boys and leave a woman at home to raise his kids as raising kids was obviously woman’s work.
In order to do this on CFB Namao he brought his mother into the PMQ to raise my brother and I. Grandma brought her husband Roy William (Andy) Anderson into the PMQ with her. Grandma and Andy lived in the ground floor bedroom.
Much like on CFB Summerside, grandma put me into Sunday School at the base chapel. Grandma would take my brother and I to Sunday service at the chapel. In fact we had our Sunday church clothes that we’d wear, and after church we had to change into our regular clothes before we could go out and play.
Grandma also put me in the Red Cross learn to swim program, the base hockey team for 6 to 8 year olds, the Youth Bowling Council at the base bowling alley, Beavers, and basketball.
My grandmother had a fierce temper and an equally fierce temper. She wasn’t above using sticks or whatever else was at hand to inflict corporal punishment. Her two actual maxims were “Children are to be seen and not heard” and “Children only speak when spoken to”
Towards the winter of 1978 both grandma and Andy had been drinking very heavily in the PMQ. Andy took a shower one night to “sober up”. He slipped in the shower and cracked his skull. Once Andy went into the hospital, he never came out again. And this is what led to my brother and I requiring the babysitting services of one of Captain Father Angus McRae’s altar boys. This altar boy was born in June of 1965 and had the initials of P.S..
P.S. would turn out to be quite a pedophile. He had an intense sexual attraction to children, especially boys. P.S. was late 13 when he started abusing children on Canadian Forces Base Namao. He wouldn’t stop until he was investigated by the base military police in May of 1980.
May of 1980 is the same period of time that the babysitter had been found buggering me in his bedroom with his penis firmly inserted into my rectum. It’s just too unbelievable that I was found being buggered by the babysitter right around the time that the military police, specifically Sgt. Mossman and Sgt. Clark, investigated P.S. due to numerous complaints that the base military police received due to the complaints of “numerous parents” on the base.
P.S. was a very angry teenager. He didn’t have the self restraint and self control that Captain McRae would have. See, Captain McRae would get us intoxicated before he abused us. Captain McRae would also be very careful with what he did so there wasn’t any evidence.
There were times when the babysitter would cause me to have rectal bleeding. All grandma would say when she saw my underwear is that I had to learn how to wipe my ass properly and that I had to stop scratching myself.
As I said, there was no confiding in grandma.
And there was no way I could confide in my father.
Even at 7 and 8 years of age, kids on base knew what queers and fags were. And you knew sure as fuck that you didn’t want it known that you touched another boy’s penis or let another boy touch your penis. And getting fucked by another boy? You were just asking for a beating.
So no, there was no telling my father.
The babysitter wanted every type of sexual pleasure. And if you didn’t perform and pleasure him he’d make his displeasure felt.
The memories of what he did to me, what he made me do to him, what he did to my brother, what he made me do to my brother, what he made my bother do to me, and what he did with the other kids will be with me until the day I die.
As I told Master Corporal Christian Cyr of the Canadian Forces National Investigation Service on May 3rd, 2011, there were 5 visits that the babysitter took me to see the father at the base chapel. I don’t remember anything about the visits after the “sickly sweet grape juice”
In the aftermath of CFB Namao, my family was moved off the base and sent down to Canadian Forces Base Griesbach.
At the school on base for the children of military families I started seeing a man named “Terry”. Terry was upset at what I had been doing with the babysitter on CFB Namao. He said that boys who had sex with other boys had a mental illness called “homosexuality”. He said that because of what I let the babysitter do to my brother that I was a sexual pervert. On the days where my father would attend meetings with Terry my father would agree with Terry like Terry had some magical power over my father.
Terry would warn me that he had the base military police watching me and that if I ever tried to kiss or touch another boy that I would be going to psychiatric hospital for treatment.
Terry told my father that it was a good idea to not let me play in sports any longer as I obviously couldn’t control myself around other boys. I know that my father took this to heart as there was a school field trip that he specifically wouldn’t allow me to go on as “there would be naked boys in the change room and that I wouldn’t be able to control myself”.
In the spring of 1982 the relationship between my father and his girlfriend was deteriorating. He told me and my brother that in no uncertain terms that if she left, he’d put our bodies in a duffle bag and that no one would ever find us.
In the summer of 1982 I started going to a “special school” that treated homosexual children. Or so my father and Terry used to say.
In the spring of 1983 my father said that I had been “expelled” from the special school for kissing another boy. When we moved from CFB Griesbach in Edmonton, AB and went to CFB Downsview in North York, ON in April of 1983 I asked my father why we had to move. He said that the counsellors wanted to give me drugs to stop me from liking boys, and that he didn’t want me to take these drugs so in fact he was saving me and that I owed him for that.
When we arrived in Toronto, I hated it. I was big. It was polluted. And going to civilian schools was a nightmare.
When I told my father that I didn’t like Toronto he unleashed on me. Said that the was sick and tired of me fucking with his military career. Said that I cost him dearly.
Over the time on CFB Downsview my father would often lay into me whenever my brother would get into trouble. He’d say that my brother was acting the way he was because I had let / allowed the babysitter to touch my brother, that I wasn’t raising my brother the way that I was supposed to.
I have no doubt in my mind that because of my grandmother’s alcoholism, she’d often get pissed for days and that it would be my father’s responsibility to raise his younger brother Douglas. Out of the two, Doug was the more casual and more laid back. Richard was the anal retentive prick. Doug was grandma’s favourite of the two. Whereas Richard was the more dependable of the two.
In the summer of 1985 while my brother and I were staying in Edmonton with our grandmother over the summer Richard and Sue got into a massive domestic dispute that seemed to revolve around the fact that my father hadn’t divorced my mother until the spring of 1985 even though he had married Sue in a private ceremony in the spring of 1982.
September 1985 was the first birthday that I had had since my mother left in 1976. Richard promised that he would never forget my birthday again. He never acknowledged my birthday after that.
I quit school at the end of grade 8. I only went to school for one month of grade 9.
I left the house when I was 16, not too long after my 16th birthday.
I didn’t know at the time that 6 years prior that I had been diagnosed with major depression, severe anxiety, an intense fear of men, and an intense fear of being touched. I was found that I didn’t have the ability to form friendships. I also couldn’t express my emotions.
All I knew from my father’s constant reminders is that I was a lazy fucking cocksucker who couldn’t get out of bed on time for school. My suicidal ideations were just my attempts to “get attention”. My frequent outbursts of tears were just because I was just a fucking crybaby trying to get attention. Etc, etc, etc.
I didn’t have many conversation with my father after that.
In June of 1990 he called me up and invited me to move back to Edmonton with him on his final posting. He said that he was going to try to make the family work this time. This of course was more bullshit from Richard.
In August of 2006 I had an intense conversation with Richard. He wouldn’t accept any blame for the events leading up to us requiring a babysitter. In fact, he blamed his mother for hiring the babysitter even though he claimed he told grandma not to hire the babysitter. I told Richard of my plans to press charges against the babysitter as I was sick and tired of being blamed for what the babysitter did to my brother. Richard warned me about doing that. He said if I went sticking my nose into that I might not like the smell of the shit.
After this I started changing.
Not coming out of the closet, but not afraid to try to figure out what I was. This is the period of time that I started wearing dresses and playing with makeup.

This is also when I legally changed my name to Bobbie Garnet Bees.
I don’t think Richard reacted too well to me changing my name. I did write him a letter explaining why I legally changed my name. But I think it was the fact that I wasn’t sure of my gender or my orientation at the time that caused him to break off all communications with me. After this he would never answer my calls again and my letters to him were always sent back “RTS”.
In 2010 I left the hospital to go work for a private employer. This didn’t last too long as there were massive fights and disagreements going on at the shareholder level. One faction of shareholders decided to fire everyone at the business. I took these shareholders to the Supreme Court of BC and just before a trial date was to be booked, their lawyer called me and offered to settle out of court.
Due to this I decided that enough was enough, that I was going to go after the babysitter.
I emailed the Edmonton Police Service and gave them a brief explanation of what happened and what I wanted to do. From certified tribunal records I would learn that the Edmonton Police Service contacted the Alberta Serious Incident Response Team. ASIRT contacted the Canadian Forces National Investigation Service. And the Master Warrant Officer Terry Eisenmenger told Warrant Officer Blair Hart to explain to the Edmonton Police Service that “at the time of the offences, the RCMP would have had the jurisdiction for this investigation, but that the CFNIS were going to take this investigation”. MWO Eisenmenger then instructed WO Hart to check with the RCMP to see if I had ever tried to report this matter to them.
I was contacted on March 5th, 2011 by Petty Officer Steve Morris from the CFNIS Western Region. He told me that the military police were going to investigate this matter. I asked him what had changed as when I tried to report this to the military police in 1984 and 1990 I was told that this was a matter for the civilian police. PO Morris gave me a brief description of how the CFNIS came to be. Of course he left out the whole matter of the troubled missions in both Bosnia and Somalia and how the CFSIU were found to be utterly useless due to direct exposure to manipulation by the chain of command.
One of the first things that the Canadian Forces National Investigation Service did in March of 2011 was to request the investigation paperwork from the Canadian Forces Special Investigation Unit investigation into the matter of Captain Father Angus McRae in 1980 along with the Courts Martial transcripts from Captain Father Angus McRae’s courts martial which ran from July 15th to July 18th, 1980.
The fact that the CFNIS in March of 2011 knew to request CFSIU DS 120-10-80 and the transcripts from Courts Martial CM62 indicates that the CFNIS in 2011 knew what this investigation was all about even before my statement was taken on Thursday March 31st, 2011 at VPD headquarters by master corporal Robert Jon Hancock on the CFNIS Western Region.
I have no doubt in my mind that I am not the first person from CFB Namao to go after the babysitter, and as such I have no doubt in my mind that the CFNIS have experience with the babysitter and his relationship as Captain McRae’s accomplice.
In fact, with the sheer number of victims that the babysitter abused along with the sheer number of children that the babysitter escorted over to the chapel to be abused by Captain McRae I have no doubt in my mind that the ghosts from the babysitter’s past keep coming back to haunt him and are probably what drove him to attempt suicide in the year 2000.
I March of 2001, due to his suicide attempt, the babysitter launched a civil action against the Minister of National Defence. The Minister of National Defence, the Canadian Armed Forces, and the Archdiocese of Edmonton settled with the babysitter in November of 2008. The settlement cheque was disbursed to the babysitter in December of 2008.
I also have no doubt that the CFNIS and the Provost Marshal are well aware of the babysitter’s civil claim and subsequent out of court settlement with the Canadian Armed Forces.
As such, I have no doubt that the CFNIS, the Provost Marshal, and the Vice Chief of Defence Staff all have specific protocols and procedures in place for dealing with complaints against the babysitter.
Due to very odd and unique language in the National Defence Act, the Vice Chief of Defence Staff has the authority to issue directives to any CFNIS investigation. As the Military Police Complaints Commission has indicated in the past, the VCDS has no legal training, no legal background, and is very political in nature only being one or two steps removed from the Minister of National Defence who is a political appointee.
Why else would the CFNIS in March of 2011 request CFSIU DS 120-10-80 and the Courts Martial transcripts from the archives?
As I was told by Sgt. Damon Tenaschuk in 2017, it was odd that this paperwork still existed. Paperwork like this is usually destroyed seven years after it was created, unless it was used periodically. This paperwork should have been destroyed in 1987. But it has obviously been frequently used since 1987.
My interview with Mcpl Hancock was interesting. It was the first time that I had told anyone outside of my father and “Terry” of the abuse and what had happened on CFB Namao.
Everything in the interview was going okay until towards then end when Mcpl Hancock kept asking me if there was anything else I wanted to talk about, anything at all, was there anything that I wasn’t telling him about from CFB Namao.
What Mcpl Hancock didn’t share with me at this time was that he already read the CFSIU investigation paperwork and that he already knew what the babysitter had done.
On May 3rd, 2011 I was contacted by Mcpl Christian Cyr. I don’t know why Cyr had bothered to contact me. And in many ways it probably would have been much better of he didn’t. But Cyr has a problem. He is one of those types of guys that once he knew a secret, he has to gloat to others about his secret.
Cyr called me and left a voice mail message for me to call him back, so I returned his call. Cyr, being the braggart that he was, blurted out two pieces of information that would prove that he had seen the CFSIU paperwork from 1980 and that he had seen the Courts Martial transcripts.
He first tried telling me that when the babysitter was found buggering me in the spring of 1980, that the babysitter was only 12 or 13 years of age. Next Cyr asked me if I knew anything about the base chaplain being charged with molesting children during the same period of time that I was accusing the babysitter of abusing me.
The problem with the date of birth, and this was confirmed by the Military Police Complaints Commission in the November 2020 final report, is that the speculation of the babysitter’s age only exists in the CFSIU paperwork from 1980. The babysitter was in fact born on June 20th, 1965. The was the D.O.B. given to me my the RCMP in August of 2012. This D.O.B. was also confirmed by two newspaper articles involving the babysitter in his adult years.
Why did this error in the babysitter’s age exist at all? It seemed to stem from the CFSIU investigation back in 1980 as a way to block the RCMP from being called on base to deal with the babsitter. If the babysitter was under 14, then it wasn’t much use calling the police in as the Juvenile Delinquents Act really didn’t call for any type of punishment for offenders under 14.
But at the time, the Canadian Forces had to be aware of the babysitter’s true age as the Canadian Forces couldn’t conduct a service tribunal for sexual assaults where consent wasn’t a possibility. In 1980 the age of consent was 14.
And the Military Police Complaints Commission in November of 2020 confirmed that the CFNIS had done CPIC checks of the babysitter and that these CPIC checks had the correct date and age of the babysitter. Again, the MPCC noted that this error in age existed only in the CFSIU paperwork and no where else. Meaning that Mcpl Cyr had read the investigation paperwork from 1980 and already knew what the babysitter had done.
Because of my interaction with Cyr, I was able to do a Google search for “CFB Namao Molesting Priest”. This is how I discovered the whole sordid history of what happened on that base and how even back in 1980 the Canadian Forces and the Department of National Defence “threw a veil of secrecy” over all aspect of the courts martial. The Canadian Forces in 1980 didn’t want the Canadian public to know that children on bases weren’t safe from the pedophilic children of other service members or predator priests, especially not seeing as how these priests were members of the regular force and held the rank of Captain.
Because of my interaction with WO Hart on July 18th, 2011 and his insistence that my case wasn’t going anywhere due to a complete lack of believable evidence I decided to track down my records for that “special school” that I went to for treatment of my homosexuality.
Was I ever in for a very rude awakening.
There was no program for homosexual children. I was in a program for emotionally disturbed children.
But even more shocking than that was who “Terry” was and why my ball-less wonder of a father hung from every word that Terry said. Terry was Captain Terry Totzke, military social worker with Canadian Forces Western Command. My ball-less wonder of a father would have had to pay attention to every thing that Terry had to say of he wanted to keep his career in the Canadian Forces.
Terry, seeing as how he knew about the babysitter, and that he knew about Captain McRae, was obviously working on blaming me for what had happened to me and my brother on CFB Namao with the goal of having me forever keep my mouth shut about the abuse.
Other interesting things I learnt from my social service paperwork.
The expulsion? Nope, I wasn’t expelled. Captain Terry Tozke was warned by Albertya Social Services that I was supposed to be removed from my home and placed into foster care or residential care as a means of persuading my father to participate in the family counselling as they were beinging to form the opinion that my issues were all related to major dysfunction in the household that was due to known issues with my father. I was pulled out of the Westfield program days after this meeting.
The surprise move to Ontario from Alberta was no doubt due to the desire of Captain Totzke and my father to get me out of the jursidiction of Alberta Social Services.
According to my social service paperwork, I was supposed to have been instutionalized in a psychiatric facility for children both in Alberta and then in Ontario. Captain Totzke, Captain Tyrell, and my father never followed through with any psychiatric treatment.
If I was so emotionally disturbed as a result of the 1-1/2 years of sexual abuse on Canadian Forces Base Namao, why were Totzke and my father so against me receiving treatment?
Secrets.
As long as I lived at home with my father, Totzke had direct control over me. If he wanted me to believe that I was the author of my own misfortune on CFB Namao, then so be it. If he wanted to cement this belief any harder, then he could just make sure that I understood that I was to blame for what happened to my brother.
If I was removed from the home, then Totzke would lose his control over me. And whoever it was up the chain of command that decided that CFB Namao was to remain a secret would not have been happy. I guess that the reasoning was that if I was taken out of my father’s care that I would start talking about CFB Namao and then the civilian authorities might start sticking their nose into the military’s business.
My father also had his own reasons for not wanting me placed in foster care or residential care. He lied to Alberta Social Services when he said that he had been awared sole custody of my brother and I. In 2013 the PEI government revealed that Richard only made an application for custody, but never follow through. He was never awared sole custody by any legal authority in Canada. He committed parental kidnapping. If the courts found out about this, Richard would have been looking at not only the loss of his kids, but also the loss of his military career, and possible jail time, and the very real possibility of monthly child support payments.
The CFNIS investigation was ended on November 4th 2011 when PO Steve Morris contacted me and said that the CFNIS couldn’t find any evidence to indicate that the babysitter was capable of what I accused him of.
On November 27th, 2011, after a plea in the Facebook groups for former military dependents I contacted a man named Fred Cunningham whom lived in St. Albert, AB.
Fred had a lot to say about the 1980 investigation into Captain McRae. He said that the investigation was started because of P.S.’s molestation of numerous young children on the base. I asked Fred how old the babysitter was in 1980. Fred said that he was certain that the babysitter turned 15 just before Captain McRae’s court martial in July of 1980.
Fred stated that the military police tried to have the matter moved to civilian court seeing as how the majority of children were under the age of 14. According to Fred, the “brass” intentionally dismissed all of the charges brought against captain McRae for any child under the age of 14. P.S. was the only child over the age of 14. This meant that Captain McRae’s accomplice was officially recognized by the Canadian Armed Forces as Captain McRae’s only victim. The rest of us were thrown under the bus.
Fred said that when the charges for the other children were dropped one boy in particular became enraged and swore that P.S. had stabbed him in the back. Fred said that this boy, who was also named Fred was a prolific pyromanic who had set numerous fires on the base. I asked Fred if he was insinuating that the young Fred had any responsibility for the fire at the babysitter’s PMQ which caused $56k in 1980 dollars worth of damage and resulted in the death of a civilian gas fitter. Fred said that he was going to refuse to answer that.
Fred did confirm to me the fire that occured in PMQ #26 on June 23rd, 1980 and that this fire did in fact result in the death of a person, but he wouldn’t say who this person was.
I submitted two FOIs to DND for fire information related to addresses that the Namao telephone book indicated that this boy’s family resided in on CFB Namao. Both of these FOIs came back and indicated that this boy was in fact a known pyromanic and had set the fires that had occured at this family’s PMQs. That he had a tendency to light fires and then “play the hero” after “discovering” the fire. One of the fire marshal reports indicate that Fred A. and P.S. were friends and that they had been playing together prior to one of the fires at F.A.’s house. The fire marshal report also indicated that F.A. was currently not in school as he was in the process of being sent to an institution for treatment related to his pyromania.
Fred also said that the military police did everything in their power to try to bring the RCMP in to deal with the babysitter, but that the brass wasn’t going for it.
Fred implored me to keep this information to myself as he wasn’t legally allowed to discuss this. He wouldn’t tell me what he meant. I would later learn that the Official Secrets Act / the Security of Information Act makes it an offence for anyone who was ever subject to the Code of Service Discipline to discuss ANY information that they had learned of while they were on a defence establishment. Basically anyone who was ever a member of the Canadian Armed Forces is barred from talking about anything they were involved in while they were on a base. This would easily apply to members of the military police or the CFSIU for any investigation that they were involved in while on a base.
As I would learn later on, there were two flaws in the pre-1998 National Defence Act that allowed the Canadian Armed Forces to hide and bury not only the events of CFB Namao but quite honestly.
The first and most horrific flaw that was removed from the National Defence Act in 1998 was the Summary Investigation Flaw.
In the military justice system at the time there was no such thing as a “prosecutor”. After an investigation the CFSIU would lay charges directly against the alleged offender. The charges were then forwarded to the commanding officer of the accused. The commanding officer would then review the charges and either cause them to proceed to summary investigation, to a court martial, to a civilian tribunal, or the commanding officer could dismiss any or all of the charges.
The Canadian Armed Forces confirmed that captain father Angus McRae’s commanding officer was the base commander of Canadian Forces Base Namao, colonel Daniel Edward Munro. Daniel Edward Munro is a retiree living in Victoria, BC. He retired from the Canadian Forces a Brigadier General.
As the base commander of CFB Namao, Munro would have had direct control over the base military police and the Canadian Forces Special Investigations Unit Western Region detachment.
I contacted Mr. Munro in 2016. Oddly he didn’t want to discuss anything about CFB Namao. I should also point out that it was Munro’s decision to not call in the provincial fire marshal to review the fire at P.S.’s PMQ.
After my telephone call with Mr. Cunningham I wrote a letter to the Canadian Forces Provost Marshal and discussed what I had been told by Mr. Cunningham. This letter was sent in the last two weeks of December 2011.
In January of 2012 I received a telephone call from lieutenant colonel Gilles Sansterre. Sansterre was the Canadian Forces Provost Marshal at the time. He told me that I couldn’t believe anything that this “Fred Cunningham” person had told me. The military couldn’t find any records of Cunningham. Sansterre said that maybe this “Cunningham guy” was giving me information that he had heard second or third hand.
I would learn in 2017 that Fred Cunningham was warrant officer Fredrick R. Cunningham. WO Cunningham was the Acting Section Commander of the CFSIU at the time and had been personally tasked by the base security officer, captain David Pilling with investigating captain father Angus McRae for having committed acts of homosexuality with young boys on the base. WO Cunningham was also the prosecution’s main witness against captain McRae.
And, more importantly, everything Mr. Cunningham had told me was backed up in the CFSIU paperwork. The very same paperwork that the CFNIS had in 2011.
In 2012 I filed a complaint with the Military Police Complaints Commission. This review went nowhere as reviews are extremely limited and in my matter the Canadian Forces Provost Marshal willing and intentionally withheld information from the Military Police Complaints Commission. The Provost Marshal hid the existence of CFSIU DS 120-10-80 and the court martial transcripts from the Military Police Complaints Commission. These were two very important documents as in CFSIU DS 120-10-80 is the babysitter’s statement to the military police in which he admitted to molesting numerous children on the base and in the court martial transcripts captain McRae’s defence counsel is using the babysitter pedophilia and current psychological treatment for being sexually attracted to young children to discredit his testimony against captain McRae.
Even when submitting the CFNIS brief to Alberta Crown Prosecutor Jon Werbicki in October of 2011, master corporal Robert Jon Hancock failed to disclose to the crown that P.S. had already been investigated by the military police for sexually abusing young children on the base and that the colonel Daniel Edward Munro had prevented the Royal Canadian Mounted Police from being brought in to deal with the babysitter.
I wonder if former Alberta Chief Crown prosecutor Orest Yeriniuk realizes that the Canadian Armed Forces intentionally withheld information from him and made him look like an absolute fool. I wonder if Alberta Crown prosecutor Jon Werbicki realizes that he was played like a cheap violin.
Giving fucked up briefs to the provincial crowns in nothing new. This was a tactic that the CFSIU employed. Give the crown such a fucked up and useless brief that only a moron would allow charges to be proceeded with. This allows the military police to state that “they thought for sure they had enough evidence” while at the same time blaming the provincial Crown knowing that the victims would almost never be allowed to see the communications between the military police and the crown.
I know exactly what the CFNIS sent to the Crown and I know what the Crown’s replies were back to the CFNIS. Alberta Crown prosecutor Jon Werbicki said that what I had endured on Canadian Forces Base Namao was nothing more than childhood curiosity and experimentation and that it was very suspicious that I never told anyone about the abuse.
Yeah, it seems that the CFNIS excised a lot of information to the Alberta Crown.:
The CFNIS got the response they wanted from the Crown. No charges.
My father died in 2017.
Believe me, the world is a better place without that asshole.
But the sad thing is, he’ll never have to apologize for what he did.
It was his alcoholism and anger that caused my mother to be ejected from the PMQ.
It was his inability to take responsibility for his family that allowed his children to be cared for by his alcoholic and emotionally damaged mother.
It was my father’s fault that grandma was anywhere near us.
It was ultimately my father’s fault that my brother and I ended up with a pedophile babysitter for 1-1/2 years.
I hope that you can understand why I want Medical Assitance in Dying.
I’m not giving up.
I’m not letting the DND or the CAF “win”.
There is no winning in this matter.
The DND and the CAF are completely untouchable.
Nobody of any consequence will ever have to apologize.
There is nothing that anyone can do to erase the trauma that I suffered through, not only at the hands of the babysitter and captain McRae, but also at the hands of my own father and the hands of captain Terry Totzke.
Nothing will ever undo the fact that the CFNIS in 2011 and 2015 to 2018 did everything in their power to gas light me and to portray me as a “societal malcontent with an axe to grind against the military” or someone with money troubles who frequently jumped from one job to another.
Even during a face to face meeting with then Minister of National Defence Harjit Sajjan, he accused me of being a scammer trying to scam the Canadian Forces for easy money.
Nothing will ever erase the 40+ years that I’ve suffered with severe mental illnesses gifted to me by P.S., captain McRae, captain Totzke, colonel Dan E. Munro, and the whole host of other members of the Canadian Forces that wanted the events of CFB Namao to stay a secret dead and buried in the past.
Medical Assistance in Dying is something that I want.
Even just thinking about my death and being put to sleep fills me with a serene peace and tranquility.
No matter what people wish, there is no way that I can ever get over the betrayal, the pain, the suffering.
And I refuse to live with the damage from horrific chain of command decision both from 1980 and from the present day.
Four simple medications:
And all the suffering, misery, and torment are gone forever.
My life will forever be full of regret until the day I die. Regret for things that were denied to me, regret for things that I was not allowed to do.
And that’s the end of today’s blog posting.