Tag: health

What a fucking shit show.

Well, getting ready for bed and this came up in my email.

Whoa boy does she ever go off on a really weird tangent with this.

Not only that, but she also quotes Mr. Brainworm himself:

But it’s not just Jane that goes off into absurdity, it’s the responses to her post that are off their ever loving rockers as well.

I hate it when spirits get stuck inside bodies, don’t you.
You gotta shake it and use a plunger to get that stuck spirit outta the body.
Remember to be respectful.
Use a sink plunger and not a closet plunger
The closet plunger might have dookie on it.
I knew this psychobabble nonsense had to come from somewhere.

Midazolam:

First off, if Midazolam was as ineffective as she seems to be claiming it is, then why aren’t there thousands of cases of patients waking up from surgery completely traumatized because they remember being cut open and having the doctors working inside? The typical dosage for surgery is 0.03 mg / kg of body weight. A person weighing 80 kg would receive 2.4 mg. The protocol for MAiD calls for an injection of 10 mg.

🧠 Primary Target: Central Nervous System (CNS)

Midazolam enhances GABA-A receptor activity (an inhibitory neurotransmitter), leading to widespread CNS suppression.

💭 1. Brain

  • Cerebral Cortex: Reduces anxiety, impairs awareness, causes sedation
  • Hippocampus: Causes anterograde amnesia (can’t form new memories)
  • Amygdala: Reduces fear and emotional tension
  • Thalamus: Diminishes sensory processing
  • Brainstem: Suppresses reflexes (e.g., gag reflex in high doses)
  • Reticular Activating System (RAS): Induces sleep-like state

🫁 Respiratory System

  • Depresses respiratory drive by affecting medullary centers
  • In higher doses (especially when combined with opioids or propofol), can cause:
    • Hypoventilation
    • Apnea
    • Oxygen desaturation

❤️ Cardiovascular System

  • Mild blood pressure reduction due to central vasodilation
  • Bradycardia in some cases (more common when used with other sedatives)

⚠️ What Midazolam Does Not Do:

  • No direct analgesic (pain relief) effect
  • Does not paralyze muscles (unlike rocuronium)
  • Does not affect the heart muscle directly

🕒 Onset and Duration:

  • IV onset: ~1–5 minutes
  • IM onset: ~15 minutes
  • Half-life: ~1.5–3 hours (longer in the elderly or those with liver disease)

Propofol:

Next, she left propofol off the list. Propofol is normally administered during surgery at 2mg / kg of body weight. This means that a person weighing 80 kg would typically receive 160 mg of propofol to render them unconscious for their surgery. The protocol for Medical Assistance in Dying is for the patient to be administered 1,000 mg of propofol.

🧠 Primary Region Affected: The Brain

Propofol acts predominantly on the brain to cause:

💤 1. Loss of Consciousness

  • Acts on the reticular activating system (RAS), which controls wakefulness.
  • Enhances GABA-A receptor activity (inhibitory neurotransmission), leading to deep CNS depression.

🧘‍♂️ 2. Sedation, Amnesia, and Anxiolysis

  • Diminishes activity in:
    • Cerebral cortex (awareness, cognition)
    • Hippocampus (memory formation)
    • Amygdala (emotional responses)

🫁 3. Respiratory Depression

  • Suppresses medullary respiratory centers, which control breathing rhythm.
  • Can lead to hypoventilation or apnea, especially when given in large doses.

❤️ 4. Cardiovascular Effects

  • Reduces systemic vascular resistance, leading to:
    • Hypotension
    • Bradycardia (in some cases)
  • These are indirect effects from brainstem depression and vasodilation.

Remember, the effects occur at the recommended dosages. The MAiD protocol calls for administering far greater doses than what is recommended.

Rocuronium:

Rocuronium is a neuromuscular blocking agent. For surgeries it is usually given at 0.305 mg / kg of body weight. Under the MAiD protocol Rocuronium is administered at 200 mg. Rocuronium is given on a daily basis in most hospitals around the world as it allows intubation of patients to occur with little risk to the patient during the intubation procedure.

🩺 Why Rocuronium Is Used:

  • Rapid muscle relaxation for intubation
  • Muscle paralysis during general anesthesia for surgery
  • Ventilator synchronization in the ICU

🕒 Onset and Duration:

  • Onset: ~1–2 minutes (faster with higher doses)
  • Duration: ~30–60 minutes depending on dose and patient metabolism

Bupivacaine:

And finally, Bupivacaine is an optional drug that can be administered at a dosage of 500mg total. Bupivacaine is used to induce cardiac arrest. Bupivacaine is never used intravenously during regular medical or surgical procedures as it has a very high risk of inducing cardiac arrest.

RouteConcentrationTypical DoseMax Dose (without epinephrine)Max Dose (with epinephrine)
Infiltration0.25–0.5%100–175 mg total175 mg225 mg
Peripheral Nerve Block0.25–0.5%100–175 mg (depends on block type)175 mg225 mg
Epidural0.25–0.5%12.5–25 mg per dose (up to 100 mg total)175 mg225 mg
Spinal0.5–0.75% (hyperbaric)7.5–15 mg total (small volume)~15 mgN/A

⚠️ Cautions and Contraindications

  • Cardiotoxicity: At high doses or inadvertent IV injection, bupivacaine can cause life-threatening arrhythmias or cardiac arrest.
  • CNS toxicity: Early signs may include tinnitus, metallic taste, seizures.
  • Not recommended for IV regional anesthesia (e.g., Bier blocks) due to high cardiac risk.

Without respiration or blood circulation, loss of consciousness occurs quickly. The brain is the largest consumer of oxygen in the body. The brain is easily damaged due to a lack of oxygen and will die well before the other organs in the body. And no, the brain cannot sense a lack of oxygen in the blood stream. This is why workers who go into oxygen deficient spaces and die look like they’ve just gone to sleep.

The way the body determines if there is a lack of oxygen in the blood stream is by sensing how much dissolved carbon dioxide there is in the blood stream by sensing a pH change in the blood due to the build up of carbonic acids.

However, the brain is overdosing on Midazolam and Propofol. It can’t sense anything. It isn’t aware of anything. And it will be dead long before the drugs come anywhere near close to wearing off.

Addictions or lack thereof.

Just let me put my asbestos underwear on and my NOMEX fire suit before I get started.

One of the things that I’ve had to learn about in life is how society judges those who suffer from sexual abuse or from mental illness.

For example, to have endured any type of sexual abuse as a child, a person is expected to have a drug addiction and mental health issues like Claudia from the film Magnolia.

Anything less, and you’ve obviously never have endured any type of serious trauma.

For me to have any serious type of mental illness such as major depression or severe anxiety I’d have to be a cutter with numerous trips to the psych ward.

The one thing that I’ve learnt about mental health is that health care professionals only listen to you if others will vouch for your issues.

Unfortunately in my case I had two people running obstruction. What captain Totzke’s reason was is anyone’s guess. The Canadian Armed Forces had a secret to hide in 1980, and I was one of those secrets.

Yes, the wall of secrecy also meant keeping the total number of children involved away from the prying eyes of the public. And yes, that included keeping abused children from receiving care in the civilian mental health system.

My father? Well, he was a piss tank alcoholic in the military. And he was only a master corporal. Master corporals obey the lawful commands of captains. Don’t forget, my father didn’t get involved with captain Totzke on his own. Captain Totzke was brought in to deal with my brother and I.

So, with no one advocating for me I just drifted along.

Walk-in clinics don’t deal with mental health issues.

And for the most part family doctors won’t take on cases of mental illness.

Over the years I’ve managed to stay clear of alcohol.

The last time I ever had a drink of alcohol was back in July of 2011.

And I had only started drinking around 2004 due to the guys at work going out for a drink or two at the end of the month. Gotta be a team player. But outside of going to the pub for a drink once a month I’ve never actually ever had a bottle of alcohol or a can of beer in any of the places that I’ve lived.

Just seeing what alcohol would do to my grandmother or my father was more then enough to keep me away from the stuff. I know that my brother was somewhat of a drinker, but I don’t think that he was anywhere near the levels of our father or our grandmother.

When my grandmother moved out of the PMQ on CFB Giesbach and got her own apartment down on 106th street and 107th ave her storage room in the apartment would fill up over the course of the week with cases of Pilsner. My brother and I would have to help her wheel the empties over to the brewery for the deposit.

One of the cab companies back then had a delivery service back then where for a flat fee they’d pick up your case of beer at the brewery and deliver it to you. She used this service alot. As I said, it wouldn’t take long to fill up her little storage room with empties.

Even when she lived with us on CFB Griesbach she’d take us over to the Rosslyn pub while she was drinking, this even though the door of the pub clearly said “No Minors”. We’d have to sit and wait in the lobby of the pub while grandma got her drink on.

I think it was more the hang-over phase that scared me away from alcohol. Grandma and Richard would both become very angry when they were sobering up after days of drinking.

As far as drugs go, I think one of the reasons that I never got into drugs is the fact that I’m a loner. Because of the way captain Totzke and my father practically isolated me from the other kids on CFB Griesbach, and because of the way the other kids reacted to me on CFB Griesbach.

The maxim “misery loves company” best explains drug use. I don’t care what anyone says, nobody just goes out and gets into drugs by themself. They’re almost always introduced to drugs by someone else.

When I first moved to Vancouver in the winter of ’92 I spent a lot of time in the DTES. The SROs were just as bad back then as they are now. And drug use was just as rampant back then as it is now. Just now instead of being hidden in the back allies, it’s out in the open. Even when I was staying at the Catholic Charities on Cambie St. there was drug use amongst the lodgers.

I was offered “samples” so many times, but becuase I prefered to be left alone and becuase I prefered to be by myself, I never partook.

So, on one hand I successfully avoided the temptation of drugs, but on the other hand I set myself up for a lifetime of everyone doubting my claims of child sexual abuse.

As I said, society is of the opinion that one can’t have suffered through two years of child sexual abuse, 3 years of subsequent psychiatric malpractice, and 16 years of parental neglect, parental abuse, and a dysfunctional household while being employed and addiction free.

Without an addiction, did I really suffer?

Was I really abused?

Was the abuse really as bad as I claim it was?

The Alberta Crown Prosecutor came to the conclusion that 1-1/2 years of an 8 year old being sexually abused by a 14 year old was nothing more than “childhood curiosity and experimentation”.

Were there other reasons as to why I didn’t become addicted?

From 1989 until 1994 I was homeless in three provinces and I collected welfare in three provinces. I lived in my car in Ontario, and I lived in my car in Vancouver. I even used to sleep in the work shop of one of the places I had a “job”.

I lived in homeless shelters in Vancouver and in Toronto in the period of 1989 to 1994.

So I was the ripe candidate for drug use or even alcoholism.

But, somehow I avoided drugs and alcohol. And unfortunately this ended up being very detrimental to myself.

Another issue that has really fucked me over when it’s come to my believability is my almost complete lack of involvement with the mental health system.

The general belief is that you can’t have been sexually abused if you’ve never been locked up on a 72 hour hold in a psych ward.

If I was truly suffering from major depression, severe anxiety, and haphephobia then surely I’d be on heavy medications and I’d be a frequent flyer in the quiet rooms and the stabilization units.

But, I’m just a moody fucking asshole who worries about things too much and who freaks out for no reason when people touch him.

So to recap:
(no addictions) + (no evidence of self harm) + (no known suicide attempts) = NO SEXUAL ABUSE.

(Untreated mental illness) + ( 136 1/6 IQ) + ( functional employment ) =
LYING ASSHOLE.

The formula that I like the most is (Midazolam) + (Propofol) + ( Rocuronium) = No more suffering.

T- 722 days and counting

Well, it’s 722 days between now and March 17th, 2027.

March 17th, 2027 is of course when MAiD MD-SUMC is supposed to become legal in Canada.

MAiD MD-SUMC was supposed to have been legalized on March 17th, 2023, and then again on March 17th, 2024, so I’m not exactly holding my breath for this date.

The one things that these dates do give me is a bit of relief.

This relief is the same relief that you feel when you’ve worked a double overtime shift, or you’re on an extremely long flight, and you’re near the end and you get the little kick of energy that perks you up a little to get you through.

These dates also give me a bit of hope.

A bit of hope that if I hold on for just a little bit long that I can end my life with a humane procedure under the care of a licensed medical practitioner as opposed to risking failure through a self administered procedure.

Yes, I fully understand that by ending my life via M.A.i.D. I will be giving the Government of Canada, the Department of Justice, and the Department of National Defence everything that they could possibly hope for.

However, I think I can now die knowing that I at least tried to take on the Canadian Armed Forces and that while I wasn’t successful, I did at least make some people in the DOJ and the DND extremely uncomfortable.

However, I am fucking burnt out and my depression is not ever going to get any better.

I hate the fact that I am able to somewhat function with major depression.

Bobbie, you’re an asshole!

Bobbie, you’re not a team player!

Bobbie, you’re a jerk!

Bobbie, you think you’re better than everyone else!

Having high functioning depression is a fucking curse.

Not having the events from Canadian Forces Base Namao acknowledged in even the slightest really doesn’t help.

I really hope that M.A.i.D. MD-SUMC is approved this time around.

The hospital that I am currently at is slated to transfer the acute care operations to the new site in early 2027.

Even if M.A.i.D. MD-SUMC is approved in March of 2027, there will be an evaluation process that I will have to navigate as well as a cooling-off period that I will have to sit through.

The current site will still be in operation until about 2030 as it will have to support the research programs until the new research facility has been built adjacent to the new hospital.

I have no interest in going to the new site.

I consulted on the new site, and I was a member of the committee overseeing the design of the new site.

I wish I could say that this was a highlight of my life, but it wasn’t.

It was just more proof that my depression and my baggage from the past prove to be easy targets for those who sense these vulnerabilities.

My management team is well aware of my plans to not go to the new site.

So, I get to be the captain of a sinking ship.

And believe me, there are reasons why myself and this current site fit together like hand in glove. If M.A.i.D. MD-SUMC does some to pass in March of 2027 and if I am approved to undergo the procedure I will probably explain why the current site and I both share a lot of things in common and why I think we were made for each other.

730 days

Well, in 27 days it will be the start of the 730 countdown until March 17th, 2027.

March 17th, 2027 is the day in which we find out of the government of Canada has the fortitude to stand up to the chicken littles and allow fully competent adults suffering from mental illness to end their lives through Medical Assistance in Dying.

I took vacation time off work in March of 2023 with the hopes that I would have been able to make the application for Medical Assistance in Dying via my nurse practitioner.

But of course parliament caved at the last minute.

Parliament caved to well organized, and no doubt funded by American dark money, “grassroots” campaigns that had convinced enough Canadians that if M.A.i.D. was legalized for mental illness, that the government of Canada was just going to send white vans across the country murdering unsuspecting people who had mental illness.

M.A.i.D. for mental illness was pushed back until March 17th, 2024.

Took time off in March of 2024 as well only to find that Parliament pushed M.A.i.D. for mental illness back to March 17th, 2027. This time the general fear was that the government was going to start starving the disabled and thus forcing them to choose M.A.i.D. instead of living in poverty.

I wish that these concerned citizen groups would get as concerned about how the federal government, the Canadian Armed Forces, and the Department of Justice seem hellbent on keeping the child sexual abuse the children endured on military bases in Canada hidden away from the public eye.

Nope.

These people are so very concerned about grown adults making rational choices.

I’ll never understand what it is that gives people the right to assume that they know what’s the best for me based on their fear of death.

Are people afraid that if I die via M.A.i.D. at a time of my choosing that they’ll have to admit that I got severely fucked over by Captain Father Angus McRae and his accomplice?

Are people afraid of having to admit that I got severely fucked over by my military social worker, Captain Totzke?

Are people afraid of having to admit that life sucks in general and that some people get fucked over from the word go through no fault of their own?

My brain is so fucked beyond belief.

People have asked me why I’m not concerned about how my death would affect those that know me.

Well, my entire family is dead. So I don’t have to worry about that.

I don’t owe anyone at work anything.

What I fear the most

What I fear the most is not losing my class action against the Canadian Armed Forces and the Department of National Defence.

What I fear the most is not death. Death is a natural occurrence that we will all experience once in our lives.

What I fear the most is not being able to end my life via Medical Assistance in Dying and having to keep living with the past.

What I fear the most is being forced to end my life by suicide and not being successful at it.

“Bobbie, just move on, leave the past in the past”

Not that simple.

I know that it’s so very hard for you to fathom that someone would gladly look forward to their death to escape their mental issues.

But as I’ve said time and time again, what I went through as a child is not something that I would ever wish upon my worst enemy.

“But Bobbie, children have always been subject to child sexual abuse.”

Yes, that is quite true. And for so long as child sexual abuse exists so will child, teen, and adult suicide. Especially when victim blaming and/or victim shaming are involved.

What I fear the most is that even if Medial Assistance in Dying when Mental Illness is the Sole Underlying Medical Condition (M.A.i.D. MISUMC) is finally legalized in March of 2027 that I will be excluded.

The guidelines for M.A.i.D. MISUMC seem to require documentation to illustrate a “life long” suffering from mental illnesses such as Major Depression or Severe Anxiety.

I have the documentation for the diagnoses. But what I don’t have is the documentation showing a “life long” attempt to deal with the diagnoses through counselling, therapy, or drugs.

But as I’ve said before, between Captain Totzke and my father, these diagnoses were hidden from me and instead I was blamed for my own misfortune.

I never sought treatment from October of 1980 until August of 2011, not because I wasn’t experiencing any issues, I never sought treatment as it had been drilled into my head when I was younger that my issues were made up, that I was acting up just to seek attention, that my “issues” were just attempts for me to shift the blame for what “I” had done on CFB Namao.

Due to my untreated mental illnesses there never were significant others in my life that would have flagged my issues and urged me to seek treatment. There was just an internal desire to hide and mask my flaws so that I could hold employment.

For the most part my adult medical needs were taken care of by walk-in clinics. Walk-in clinics really aren’t the greatest for following up with issues like mental health issues.

And besides, I had no safety net to fall back upon. Asking for help in my younger days would have more than likely entailed a stay or two at a psychiatric facility, which would have been the end of any employment that I had. Being on my own since I was 16, and not having a family to fall back on for support, meant that I had to ensure that I was always employed.

And back in the ’80s , the ’90s, and even the aughts, stays at psych facilities would have been a definite red flag on most employment applications.

Seeking help for my mental issues would be something that I would have avoided at all costs. Primarily due to my ignorance about having been diagnosed at age 9 with some pretty serious mental illnesses, but also because the military environment that I had grown up in at the time made it well known that mental health issues were signs of failure and that only weak crybabies went to the head shrinker.

After I obtained my social service paperwork in 2011, I did avail myself to counselling. But this did absolutely nothing as the counsellors just couldn’t wrap their heads around what I was telling them about my childhood.

Dying with Dignity Canada https://www.dyingwithdignity.ca/advocacy/maid-for-mental-illness/ has initiated a court challenge. But I don’t really have faith in this organization. DWDC seems to support criteria to qualify for M.A.i.D. MISUMC that may actually serve as a barrier to those such as myself who desire to obtain M.A.i.D.. Yes, I understand the need for criteria, but there MUST be exceptions made for persons such as myself who were willfully denied treatment for mental illness.

Mental Health – often ignored.

When it comes to obtaining mental health treatment in this country there aren’t really any organizations that specialize in anything beyond the most absolute archaic attitudes towards mental health.

The usual attitudes that the “experts” espouse are:

  • You’re faking this / being overly dramatic.
  • You can’t be mentally ill if you’re working.
  • If your family / relatives / significant others don’t voice concerns about you then you really can’t be suffering.
  • If you don’t get better it’s because you’re faking this for attention
  • If you don’t consent to taking brain altering drugs, you’re not serious about getting better.
  • If you don’t participate in meaningless hippy-trippy feel good therapy then you’re just a self-centred asshole that cares nothing about those around you.
  • If you don’t allow yourself to be committed for in-patient treatment and lose your employment and your ability to obtain security clearances then are you really committed to getting better.
  • Depression isn’t a real disease and can be cured by smiling more and pretending to be happy.

I had been a supporter of the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health CAMH in Toronto prior to the Senate hearing for M.A.i.D. for Mental Illness when I was absolutely sickened and blindsided by their outright refusal to endorse Medical Assistance in Dying for circumstance in when metal illnesses such as depression were too much for the person requesting M.A.i.D. to endure.

Sadly it looks as if CAMH is more concerned with getting all of those prescriptions filled and all of their beds filled.

There have been some rather shocking criticisms against CAMH.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Centre_for_Addiction_and_Mental_Health#Criticisms

All mental health treatment / therapy programs are like this. Nothing but 100% feel good bullshit designed in such a way that they are never at fault if their patients don’t get better.

And it’s not like I haven’t tried to get help before.

However one problem with mental health professionals is that they let their preconceived notions get in the way of seeing the patient before them.

It’s very hard to get treatment when “professionals” are dismissive of what you’re telling them.

  • Children never lived on Canadian Armed Forces bases
  • Why would civilians live on military bases?
  • Children were never sexually abused on military bases
  • Sexually abused children were never looked after by military social workers
  • The Canadian Armed Forces never interfered with the mental health treatments of children.
  • The Canadian Armed Forces never facilitated the postings of serving parents from one province to another province to avoid the apprehension of their children by provincial social services.

When dealing with counsellors and therapists in the past it was always assumed that if something as horrific as I had implied had happened that my father or other authority figures would have seen to it that I received treatment for my issues.

What these counsellors and therapists refused to believe was that the people who should have helped me were instead more interested in keeping my need for help a complete secret so as to keep the events on CFB Namao out of the media.

The Canadian Armed Forces and the chain of command made decisions that my mental health meant nothing compared to the public image of the Canadian Armed Forces.

And now I have to deal with organization such as CAMH that believe that all mental health issues can be medicated away and therefore M.A.i.D. for mental illness should never be allowed.

The Long Term Effects of Untreated Mental Illnesses

What does untreated depression or anxiety feel like?

It’s hard to describe.

My brain feels like it’s being compressed. Sometimes my brain only feels slightly compressed while at other times my brain feels like it’s about three or four times bigger than my skull.

Fire. My brain will sometimes feel like it’s on fire. This will often happen if my train of thought is disturbed.

Swimmy. My brain often feels like it’s swimming inside my head.

Dizzy. There are times when the memories come back that my brain feels like I’ve been spinning around.

When I get distracted, it feels like someone has punched my brain.

There may have been a time when I was younger that therapy and medication may have had benefits. But those days are long behind me.

And no, simply not thinking about matters makes my brain feel any better.

Touching grass?

Grounding myself?

Come back and talk to me when you’re not living in the fantasy world of make fucking believe.

I can only wonder if my depression was the cause of the two cardiac issues that I’ve had. Take for example the first time my heart put me in the hospital back in 2012.

When I went in blood testing showed that I was in the midst of a heart attack. The cardiac stress test I had the next morning showed that I had heart damage. The MiBi scan that I had next showed that my Left Anterior Descending artery was blocked. I got put on meds to slow my heart down to let it rest and relax. And I was scheduled for an angiogram to place a stint.

When I went in for the angiogram the Dr. performing the procedure was shocked to find that my LAD was wide open and my heart had excellent circulation and that there didn’t appear to be any damaged heart tissue.

I was booked in to do a treadmill stress test. I ran on the treadmill for 25 minutes without a hitch. Good blood pressure, good heart rate, good O2 levels.

The cardiologist that I had seen in 2012 had discussed with some of his cohorts the possibility of a “coronary vasospasm”

I had another incident similar to this around 2018.

Except this time they kept drawing blood samples every four hours. It was found that my troponin levels were abnormally high, but then plummeted back to normal a few hours later. I was sent for another treadmill test and ran that fine for 20 minutes.

It turns out that depression can have nasty effects on the heart.

Coronary Vasospams can be caused by depression, anxiety, and other mental health issues. In a coronary vasospam one of the arteries involved with supplying oxygenated blood to the heart contracts and restricts blood flow to the heart muscles. The is the exact same way that a typical heart attack works, but instead of being caused by material blocking the artery, the artery constricts by itself.

All arteries in the human body are muscular. This is how the body can regulate blood pressure. And by being able to restrict blood flow to the extremities, the body can retain warmth in the core when the extremities become too cold. The interesting thing is that the muscle in the artery can respond to more than just a requirement to regulate blood pressure.

The links between depression, anxiety, mental health issues, and cardio vasospasm / Prinzmetal’s angina are known, but they aren’t truly understood.

Long term untreated major depression and severe anxiety have other ill effects on the human body which often manifest as actual physical symptoms.

My view on life and death.

Don’t expect anything profound from this post. This is just my view on life and death.

Life is something that we all experience. But we all experience it differently.

Only a complete tool would expect that everyone else would have life experiences similar to their own.

To me, life is what exists from the time that you’re conceived until the time you die. There is nothing before, and there is nothing after.

This life is all that you get.

Where you end up in life is determined greatly by where you start off in life.

I get a lot of people telling me that my fascination with death is unhealthy and that I should be thankful for the life that I have.

There is nothing for me to be thankful for.

I’m not the result of some divine miracle.

3.7 billion years of evolution has insured that reproduction works fairly reliable.

My father fucked my mother, his sperm fertilized one of her eggs.

My father didn’t have to pass any tests. Neither did my mother.

There’s about 7.5 billion examples of sexual intercourse existing on this planet.

There is no divine creator.

The human brain is a curious thing. It needs answers. It doesn’t like being without answers. When it can’t discover the correct answer the human brain has no problem detouring into the land of make believe to create answers. Not knowing the answers causes the human brain a lot of stress and panic.

This is why humans have known over 3,000 imaginary friends in the sky that are responsible for or can be blamed for every aspect of human existence.

It wasn’t until the 1570s to 1580s that it was discovered that women had eggs and men had sperm. This is why historically religions had viewed women as nothing more than walking and talking incubators that simply allowed the man’s baby batter to grow into a human baby.

This is why masturbation for boys and men was always seen as wasting “god’s” precious seed, but menstruation by women was seen as just a filthy unclean punishment for eating a fucking apple. The fucking inbred goat herders couldn’t have possibly known that the woman was eliminating an unfertilized egg.

This is why back in the olden days, when a woman couldn’t conceive she was deemed to be worthless and barren. The man was never at fault.

Because of this fascination with imaginary friends instead of allowing me to end my life for personal reasons, society insists that I keep on living for another 20 or 30 years because otherwise I’d be wasting god’s precious gift and then I’d be going to hell for committing the sin of suicide.

Don’t believe me? Check out this wonderful comment that was left on my other blog by a concerned person with an imaginary friend.

This of course is all based upon religious nonsense that has carried over from a time when everything that was unexplained was magic.

And then of course there are those who wish to use outright fear because if I want to die then can life really be the cake walk that they’ve experienced?

They will go so far as to use American prisoner executions as an example of how M.A.i.D. will cause suffering, and that my death will be painful just like that of a prisoner.

In the American penal system, the death penalty is seen as a punitive punishment. The Americans aren’t simply happy with executing a prisoner, they need for that prisoner to suffer as much as possible without causing outrage and public anger. So they don’t use a humane protocol. They only use enough drugs to kill a person, but not enough to ensure a quick and humane death. It’s called the “penal” system for a reason, penal being derived from penance. Suffering and pain are supposed to make your soul learn a lesson.

What do I believe happens after death?

Nothing.

Just death.

The M.A.i.D. protocol used in Canada is comprised of three drugs. Propofol, Rocuronium, and Bupivacaine.

Propofol is an intravenous anesthetic formulation used for induction and maintenance of general anesthesia. This is what knocks a person out. One of the benefits of propofol is it seems to inhibit the brain’s ability to form memories. At the level it is introduced during M.A.i.D. it will typically cause a deep coma.

Rocuronium is a muscle relaxant that inhibits the skeletal muscles. The diaphragm is a skeletal muscle. The rocuronium stops a person from breathing. Normally not being able to breath would cause a buildup of carbon dioxide in the blood stream which would then cause great discomfort and possible panic due to the inability to expel the carbon dioxide. However, due to the propofol in the system the brain won’t be aware of the carbon dioxide levels in the blood stream.

The heart will still be beating at this point, this means the heart will still be circulating blood around the body, potentially supplying the brain with minute amounts of oxygen. The bupivacaine is administered in order to stop the heart and to cease the circulation of blood.

The human brain cannot survive more than four minutes without blood circulation. Once more than four minutes have elapsed brain damage starts to occur as the neurons and nerve fibres start to die due to a lack of oxygen and due to the build up of toxic waste products.

And that’s it.

No more pain.

No more suffering.

No more memories.

No more judgemental assholes.

No more dealing with the “smile and be happy” brigade.

72 hours elapse and then I will be cremated.

It will be just like it was before my father fucked my mother.

I won’t exist anymore.

Not existing for 13.7 billion years didn’t cause me any grief.

Not existing after won’t cause me any issues either.

Sure, there will be those in the god brigade that will wring their hand and try to shame me for upsetting their imaginary friend.

But this life belongs to me and to myself alone.

My life does not belong to you nor your imaginary friend.

My life does not belong to the Department of Justice, or the Senate of Canada, or the Conservative Party of Canada, the Canadian Armed Forces, the Catholic Church, the pope, or the imaginary friends in the sky.

You don’t like people taking their lives for “no reason”?

Don’t make people suffer.

Don’t deny people treatments for mental health issues.

Don’t deny people justice.

Don’t patronize people.

As I’ve said elsewhere, human life only seems to have value when people wish to take their own life.

We tolerate 2,000 easily prevented deaths by automobile in Canada because slowing cars down would hurt car sales.

We tolerate drug overdoses in this country because we don’t want to slow down traffic at the border as that would make day trippers sad.

And we have absolutely no problem with adventure seekers dying “do what they liked doing”.

Airlines have crashed due to management decisions to cheap out on designs or to cutback on maintenance.

And we have no problem shipping people off to foreign countries to die fighting the good fight.

Death is tolerated by society so long as it’s due to any reason other than a person taking their own life.

I think this has to do a lot with society not wanting to admit its blemishes and its failures. When someone takes their own life, society will sit back and try to assure itself that there was nothing that could be done, that we exist in Xanadu, where everything is perfect so long as you intentionally ignore all of the flaws.

People taking their own lives whether it be by their own hand or with assistance from a medical professional means that society has to reflect upon just how horrific and unfair life really is and how our society treats people as disposable objects that are the property of the state.

The fear of M.A.i.D. for mental illness.

I really don’t understand why there is so much fear and disinformation surrounding Medical Assistance in Dying for mental illness.

Shawn Watley recently wrote an article for the MacDonald Laurier Institute which was really nothing more than a Henny Penny Chicken Little “the sky is falling” screed against Medical Assistance in Dying.

https://macdonaldlaurier.ca/were-way-beyond-the-slippery-slope-we-need-new-criteria-for-maid-shawn-whatley-in-the-national-post/

You know what, fine, if Dr. Watley thinks that he can fix everyone and save everyone, then he should stop wasting time and get his magical cure-all elixir approved by Health Canada and on to pharmacy store shelves across Canada.

It’s one thing for people like Dr. Watley to tut-tut persons wishing to obtain M.A.i.D. for mental illness, but it’s something completely different for those with longstanding mental health issues that wish to pursue M.A.i.D. to have to endure prolonged suffering just for the sake of vanity causes for doctors like Dr. Watley.

I have a sneaking suspicion that Dr. Watley is of the “you simply haven’t tried hard enough to fix your own mental illness” crowd. People like this seem to form the majority in mental health care practitioners. According to these type of doctors, unless you’ve literally popped every type of pharmaceutical, and have tried every type of therapy, you just haven’t tried hard enough.

I can only wonder what wonderful advice Dr. Watley could offer to someone that had their brain fucked with by a military social worker when they were a child living on a Canadian Forces base.

If a person can’t enjoy life, can’t find pleasure in life, keeps fighting with the demons of child sexual abuse, child emotional abuse, child physical abuse, has fought major depression and severe anxiety all of their life, why should this person have to keep existing of they no longer wish to exist.

Why should people like myself have to continue suffering just to keep Dr. Watley and his ilk of like minded physicians happy with the idea that they “saved us” from the evils of death.

My brother died of a drug overdose back in early August of this year. A drug overdose that was no doubt brought on by the years of mental suffering due to growing up in our father’s extremely dysfunctional home and the sexual abuse that we endured for two years on Canadian Forces Base Namao from 1978 until 1980.

I am envious of my brother. He no longer feels pain. He no longer has the memories. No financial worries. Nothing. It’s all gone and it’s all over for him. The babysitter can no longer bother him, Captain Father Angus McRae can no longer bother him, our father, Warrant Officer Richard Wayne Gill can no longer bother him.

The world has gone on existing without him.

Me?

I’m just sticking around long enough to clear my name, which hopefully won’t be too much longer. Hopefully my class-action against the Canadian Armed Forces is wrapped up around 2027, and hopefully Medical Assistance in Dying is legalized for mental illness by 2027, as I would love nothing more than to never be bothered by my memories of the physical and mental abuse at the hands of my father, the mental abuse at the hands of Canadian Forces military social worker Captain Terry Totzke, the sexual abuse at the hands of the babysitter and the base chaplain, Captain Father Angus McRae, both from Canadian Forces Base Namao, or the years of diagnosed but untreated major depression and severe anxiety.

But, I have a feeling that people like Dr. Shawn Watley don’t really care about my mental health. I think that they’re more concerned with the appearance of caring than they are with realizing that not everything is curable and not everything can be treated and that a person must have full and complete autonomy to make choices for the own lives otherwise they are just being punished and forced to endure and existence of very little meaning but of constant mental anguish.

Breasts and death

My hormone related changes are well under way.

And I still really want to die.

And I don’t think that there’s anything wrong with that.

Death won’t be an option until 2027, and there’s still no indication if M.A.i.D. will be legalized for mental illnesses or not, but I am still hoping to be “allowed” to die.

Isn’t that the funniest of things?

I’m not allowed to die, but I also didn’t choose to exist.

My mother and my father got drunk one night. An exchange of DNA occurred. And 9 months later I popped out into the world.

Through my early life all sorts of people with their own agendas were making decisions about my life based upon their own ideas and interests.

And here I am at 52, burnt out and tired, and unable to make a decision about my life.

But Bobbie, I thought that if you transitioned that you would be happy and that you’d want to live?

Fuck no.

With an official delay in M.A.i.D. until 2027 I thought that I would avail myself to fixing the one thing that I had always wanted to correct all of my life but was unable to due to circumstances beyond my control.

Transitioning in and of itself is not the cure for my desire to die.

My desire to die comes from my rancid childhood.

Growing up on Canadian Armed Forces military bases was hard enough under the best of circumstances.

Growing up on Canadian Armed Forces military bases as a sexually abused male was an absolute fucking nightmare.

Growing up on Canadian Armed Forces military bases as a sexually abused gender non-conforming male during the days of CFAO 19-20 was a fucking soul destroying experience.

Growing up on Canadian Armed Forces military bases in a dysfunctional family in the era when the military’s policy towards members with mental issues meant that the military just outright ignored these issues meant that there were none of the normal experiences that children require to grow up mentally healthy. In fact my father’s alcoholism and his out-of-control and unacknowledged PTSD meant that the experiences that I grew up with caused a shit ton of mental issues that have plagued me for my entire life.

How bad have these issues affected me?

Here’s some moulds made of my teeth by my dentist in a last ditch attempt to save what’s left of my teeth.

Yeah, I’ve worn my teeth down to absolutely nothing.

That’s ’cause I wake up in terror some nights grinding my teeth away.

I’ve had night guards before, but I usually grind through them in a few weeks.

So Bobbie, if you still want to die, why are you transitioning?

I’ve never identified with being a male at any point in my life.

And this has nothing to do with the babysitter, Captain McRae, Captain Totzke, or Master Corporal Gill.

I’ve never identified as a boy. I always thought that I was a girl.

Around age 10 or 11 I remember hoping and praying that I would wake up the next morning with breasts and all the rest.

And everyday that I didn’t wake up with the much hoped for changes, I was devastated.

And was I ever jealous.

The girls at school were starting to fill out, and I wasn’t.

So, I intend to spend the next three years-or-so getting some of the changes that I’ve always wanted.

I’m not going for bottom surgery. I’ll get some items removed, but I’m not going for vaginoplasty.

And for the topside, I’ll be happy with what the hormones give me. I’m not going the augmentation route.

Body wise? Yeah, I’m already enjoying the muscle loss. It’s hard to explain, but I’ve always felt that my body is smaller than what it actually is. By losing muscle mass I’m hoping to finally get my body muscle structure down to what feels more natural. I’m already getting some of the fat redistribution, but the full effect won’t be for another year or so.

The goal of this all will be that when I finally go to sleep and escape this fucked up existence, that I present as close to a female as I can.

Never wanted to be a male.

Never identified as a male.

I don’t want to die as a male.

But, in the meantime I’m going to keep on with the hormones and the changes.

The Canadian Armed Forces had an extensive amount of say over my childhood.

I will not allow Canadian Armed Forces to say single fucking thing about my remaining days or my death.