Medical Assistance in dying – Page 19

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.

Bones ‘n’ Ashes

I guess it’s a good thing that Richard is long since dead and gone.

If he knew what I did to Scott, he’d kill me.

I could just hear Richard now “You goddamn little fucking cocksucker, look at what you did to Scott! You think he’d be dead right now if you fucking looked after him like you’re supposed to?”

That’s basically the same spiel I got from him during one of our “counselling sessions” in Captain Totzke’s office over by base HQ on CFB Griesbach when I was around 9 or 10.

That’s also the same speech that I got when Scott stole Sue’s Pontiac Acadian when we lived on Canadian Forces Base Downsview in Ontario.

So yeah, it’s a good thing that Richard is dead.

I don’t expect to hear anything from Sue.

She was married to my father, we were just the baggage from the previous marriage that Richard just had to keep in order to keep the costs under control.

Our mother? Not too sure where she is. The last time I saw her she was literally just waiting to die out of boredom. She lost at the game of life, her life was destroyed by Richard, and she was just existing until the mercy of death would take her away.

I had always thought that my father was most like Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights, except unlike how the reader was exposed to what drove Heathcliff to destroy everyone around him, no one, not even I, knows what set Richard on the path to destroy everyone around him, including his own sons.

When I say that we were a dysfunctional family, we were.

The fact that my brother is dead doesn’t really bother me, just reinforces for me that dying at home alone really fucks up the flooring. Hopefully I get to apply for M.A.i.D. in 2027.

What does bother me about my brother’s death is no one will connect the dots between his life as a military dependent and the fact that he ended up dead on the floor of his apartment for about a week.

What also bother’s me is that Scott won’t ever get an apology from the Canadian Armed Forces or the Minister of National Defence, and that the Department of Justice is probably cackling with glee at the prospect of one less admission of liability.

But Scott’s death does illustrate for me that his death doesn’t really matter.

Bill collectors just want his money.

Service providers just want his money.

Nobody else gives a flying fuck.

His phone is ringing off the hook with creditors and such, but not one single person has texted him to say “hey, what’s up, why aren’t you answering your phone”

I’m so emotionally damaged that his death doesn’t bother me. Not ’cause I hated or despised him, but Captain Father Angus McRae, P.S., Master Corporal Richard Gill, and Captain Terry Totzke beat all of the fucking emotions out of me before I could even develop proper emotions as a kid.

And I can’t honestly be the only former military dependent that can’t feel or express emotions, this was something that was drilled into your heads on these bases back in the ’60s, ’70s, ’80s, and probably even still today. Emotions are for the weak, crying is for sissies, admission of mental health issues show that you’re weak.

Going back through emails and texts I can see Scott’s life unravelling.

I’m prepared for years of battle with the fucking military and their lawyers at the DOJ. I knew the Department of Justice really didn’t give a flying fuck when I went to Federal Court back in 2013 to try to get the 2012 findings of the Military Police Complaints Commission overturned. The fact that the Canadian Forces Provost Marshal withheld all manners of evidence from the MPCC in 2012 didn’t matter one fucking iota with those assholes. All they were concerned about was protecting the CFPM, the CFNIS, the CAF, and the DND from scrutiny.

The DOJ fought and fought and fought against compensating the babysitter for the abuse he endured at the hands of Captain McRae even though Captain McRae was only ever charged by Colonel Daniel Edward Munro with the crimes McRae committed against P.S.. Munro sunk all of the other charges, as was his right under the pre-1998 National Defence Act.

So, I’m prepared for the long haul with the DND, the CAF, and the DOJ.

But Scott, since about last summer, seemed increasingly anxious about getting a settlement from the class action.

At first I thought that it was just Scott making plans for a new car or something of the such.

No, it was probably his drug habit that seemed to have started to bloom back around 2015 – 2016.

I missed the comments about drugs this and drugs that and trying this and trying that.

I don’t know what he did prior to 2019, but it looks like he tried to cross into the states on his visa, but the visa was then stamped “WD in lieu of NTA”. So something happened.

I don’t blame him for unraveling.

I’m not going to chastise him for drugs.

I know what he went through.

I lived what he went through.

I want to end my life as badly as he did, if not more so.

But I just want my death listed as being due to M.A.i.D. which was administered to alleviate mental trauma and major depression which was directly linked to CFB Namao and the Canadian Armed Forces.

Maybe Richard was right, maybe I should have looked after him better.

Today’s Prompt…….

10 things that I know are absolutely certain.

The law doesn’t work much for everyone. The justice system in this country is not equal and is easily manipulated by those with agendas.
The idea of justice is an illusion meant to keep the working classes in line with the bullshit belief that if you work hard then things will work out in the end.
Religion is far too great of an opiate for the masses. Far too many people refuse to face reality and instead placate themselves with magical people with magical plans. God will fix this, Jesus will fix that.
Governments can become so big that as an institution it spends an inordinate amount of time protecting itself from the wrongs it, its employees, and its agents have caused.
People really don’t give a rat’s ass unless it directly affects them.
People would rather victim blame because it’s far much easier to blame the victim than it is to admit that society’s biases and blindspots led to the victim being injured or harmed.
Some parents can be outright shitheads that should have been sterilized at puberty.
Humans are not nearly as smart or advanced as we think we are.
Expecting people to simply forget the past and move on and stop whinging doesn’t work. Especially when there is no acknowledgement of the past events.
Death is peaceful. Death is also the great equalizer. Death is the relief from the pain of life.

And those are the ten things that I believe to be absolutely certain.

Ignored, written off, and talked-over.

One of the things that I’ve had to endure over the years is the constant talking over

I’ve had many instances of being written off and ignored.

In the past I had always hoped that I was just misunderstanding.

But often it’s not.

People have said that I don’t exert myself enough.

One of the most startling episodes of this was when we had an outside management company managing the physical plant at the hospital where I work.

When I started working at the hospital in 2005 I re-opened the welding shop. No one had the ability to weld since the last person with welding experience left. So I started welding. One of the managers would absolutely refuse to ask me to do any type of welding work for him even though there were lots of projects. The other manager blamed this on my “flamboyance” and that I was flaunting it too much?

I was thinking to myself “what the fuck?”

I wasn’t yet out of the closet.

But then again at that point in time it was almost 10 years since a Vancouver Police Department officer wrote my mugging off as a “gay trick gone bad”.

And then I started to realize that a lot of what I had been through in life up to that point in life was due to some sort of “queer vibe” that I had exhibited.

To this date I’ve never figured out what this “vibe” was. But it must have been noticeable.

Was this the same vibe that put me in the sights of Captain McRae and his teenaged accomplice?

Was this the same “vibe” that got the shit beat out of me numerous times at school because I “walked like a girl”, “didn’t have a girlfriend”, “looked like a faggot”?

Was this the same vibe that attracted numerous adult men to me for sexual favours while I was under 16?

Was this the same vibe that caused another manager that I worked for to constantly refer to me as “Freddie Mercury” and to constantly remind me that gay sex leads to AIDs.

Was this the same vibe that caused the son of a company in St. Albert, Alberta to exclaim that there’s no place for fags at his father’s company?

Was this the same vibe that caused Ed from Classic Billiards to poke and prod me to admit that I had a same sex attraction?

Is this the same vibe that allows service contractors and vendors to ignore me even when I’m the one who called them in for service?

It’s so much fun at work dealing with contractors who ignore you and instead start talking to someone else who has no idea of what’s going on or what the service call is about.

But Bobbie, you’re the Chief Engineer!

Surely people have to take you seriously?

No.

Things are great when I’m communicating via email.

Things go off the rails when I deal with people face to face.

It’s those “queer vibes” apparently.

And in the macho “trades” field that I find myself in, these “queer vibes” are an outright turn-off to a lot of guys.

The only reason that I’m at where I’m at is my knowledge, my skills, and my abilities.

There are numerous people over the years who would have gladly destroyed me because of my “vibe”.

And I know it’s that “vibe”.

The was one guy at the hospital that used to turn to me for advice and knowledge and help with getting projects done.

But after management was brought back in house an I was promoted to the non-management position of Chief Engineer which allowed me to dress more appropriately for my gender identity, his opinion of me soured to the point where he was sticking a knife in my back on almost a weekly basis.

And I have absolutely no doubts that if I were to meet some of my previous co-workers and employers that their opinions of me and their attitudes towards me would change drastically from what they were before.

Yeah, okay, fine.

In the last couple of years I’ve switched over to dresses, I do my nails, and I’m more often than not in heels.

Does that make my knowledge worth any less?

Apparently so.

VPD Constable Gil Puder

VPD constable Gil Puder was the investigator assigned to my mugging.

I was working the Tuesday through Saturday 14:00 to 22:00 shift at the bowling centre that I worked at.

If I left work at 22:00 sharp, I could make it downtown to watch the late shows at either the Famous Players Capitol 6 or the Cineplex Granville 7.

This fateful weekend I went to see a movie called “Congo” at the Capitol 6. I’ve covered the mugging elsewhere, so I won’t get into the details.

But, the end result is even though I had located a video tape that showed me, my two assailants, and what triggered the mugging, VPD constable Gil Puder refused to pick up the video tape or to even just go and view the video tape and speak to the theatre manager.

Gil Puder told me right to my face that until I admitted the “truth”, that I had picked this guy up in a bar and that this was a “trick gone bad”, that he wasn’t going to help.

So, there never was an investigation.

Puder defended.

A few years later when I had moved into commercial property management one of the plumbers that worked for us knew Gil Puder.

This plumber and I were having coffee at a local coffee shop discussing some upcoming projects that I had for him.

This revelation only came up because the plumber used to play ice hockey with Puder and Puder had just died due to a brain tumour.

I asked the plumber if this Gil Puder that he played hockey with had been a VPD officer, the plumber said that yes, Gil had been a VPD officer.

I gave the plumber my opinion of Puder and explained to him what caused me to have this opinion of Puder.

The plumber seemed quite taken aback and then the plumber started to justify what Puder had opined.

“Bob, you gotta admit, you don’t have a girlfriend or a wife, and you don’t exactly come across as a ladies man”, and “Look at it from Gil’s point of view, you got mugged on Burrard at Georgia, the gays are down on Burrard and Davie, so what else what Gil supposed to conclude?”

There was also a general contractor that was used frequently that did tenant and building renovations.

I was the first power engineer that had ever worked for this employer, as such there was now a requirement to adhere to provincial and municipal codes. And this caused quite a row between the contractors and I. They were now required to pull permits for electrical, plumbing, construction, demolition, and asbestos abatement.

The general contractor would often wait until it was just him and I with no one else around and then he’d unleash on me with every homophobic slur and stereotype.

When I’d go talk to the general manager about this, the GM would talk to the contractor, and the contractor would profusely deny that he had said anything.

Thick skin.

It took me years to grow a thick enough skin to ignore these opinions of my worth.

And as much as I am able to ignore them in the modern day, the problem is they still have the ability to cause me to endure significant issues.

Employment is something that I can’t just up and change if I wanted to.

Do you have any idea how long it took to work up the confidence to start dressing the way that I wanted to and to even start on hormone therapy?

Do you realize how severely I have limited my future?

In 1980 the Canadian Forces National Investigation Service investigated Captain McRae for having committed “Acts of Homosexuality” with young children on Canadian Forces Base Namao. At the time “homosexuality” was viewed as a “victimless crime”. That tarred and feathered everyone involved with Captain McRae as a “homosexual”.

This is why I spent time in the care of Captain Terry Totzke receiving “help” with my “homosexuality” that I had exhibited.

In 2011 the CFNIS conducted an investigation into the actions of the babysitter.

As I’ve said elsewhere, the CFNIS had in their possession both the CFSIU investigation paperwork and the courts martial transcripts. The existence of which the CFNIS withheld from the MPCC and the Federal Court of Canada.

They knew what Captain McRae had been charged with, and they knew that it was the investigation of the babysitter for molesting numerous young children on base that triggered the investigation of Captain McRae.

But the CFNIS in 2011 would have been exposed to a report that was written back in 1980 when the attitude was that Captain McRae, the babysitter, and all of the other kids involved were “homosexuals” with perverted minds willingly participating in the victimless crime of homosexual sex.

Is this why the 2011 CFNIS investigation was such an abysmal failure?

They had the CFSIU investigation paperwork and the court martial transcripts that implicated the babysitter in the direct molestation of young children, but the CFNIS still had the audacity to call me a liar.

Anyways, enough for now.

Gotta get ready to catch my bus back to Vancouver.

Fears……

What fears have you overcome and how?

WordPress sometimes prompts me to write about a certain topic. It’s geared towards “family” type events.

There are very few that actually seem to apply to me.

Today’s prompt was somewhat interesting.

I think the biggest fear that I had in my life was my father.

I overcame that fear somewhat in 2006 during a series of phone calls that I had with him.

Then there was his death in January of 2017.

That was a major relief.

My brother thinks that I’m over exaggerating my fear of Richard, but as Dr. Gabor Maté observed, “no two children have the same parents”.

The most significant fear that I had of Richard was his temper. Richard had very poor impulse control and very poor control of his anger. He also couldn’t take into account the difference in physical strength between himself and the person he was lashing out at.

My fear of Richard only grew more intense when I became involved with military social worker Captain Terry Totzke.

Richard is dead and gone. And the world is probably better off for this. But his effects still haunt me and have left their traces upon me.

My grandmother was another person that I feared as a kid.

Her anger and her impulse control were worse than Richard’s, but at least she lacked the physical strength of Richard.

Alcohol. I’ve always feared being an alcoholic.

Both my father and my grandmother were intense alcoholics. Both were happy drunks for the most part. Conversely both were intensely angry people when they were sobering up.

I’ve had so little alcohol in my life I can almost remember every exact time.

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

Before that it was January of 2010

Before that it was August of 2006

Before that it was September of 2005

Before that it was May of 1994

Before that it was sometime in the winter of 1990 in Gagetown, New Brunswick.

Before that it was sometime around 1986.

I can’t remember all of the “sips” that my father or my grandmother would give me when they were drunk.

I do remember the beer that grandma made me drink in the summer of 1984.

Most of these were just casual get-togethers when I was changing jobs and moving up the so called ladder.

But becoming an alcoholic has always been one of my fears.

Growing up on military bases I was exposed to a significant amount of alcoholism. It was as if being an alcoholic was a requirement to join the Canadian Forces back in the ’50s through the ’90s.

Being a “homosexual” and subsequently growing up to be like the babysitter was always a major fear of mine. Both Captain Totzke and my father would keep telling me that if I didn’t stop kissing, hugging, and being interested in other boys that I would grow up to be just like the babysitter and the priest from Namao.

Imagine the type of fear that would instil into a 9 to 11 year old.

Being told that you’d be going to a psychiatric hospital or jail for “allowing” the babysitter to do what he had done.

Estrogen Log: Day 10.

Okay, so I’m on day 10 of being on estrogen.

I’m currently on patch #3, patch #4 will be on Wednesday.

Not too much noticeable in the way of changes, but there are some changes.

My facial hair isn’t growing as fast.

My nipples have started to change shape, and now it feels like there’s an empty void behind them.

And my testicles are smaller.

Other than that I’m still waiting on the muscle loss.

I did go for physio last week and the one thing we noticed is that my muscles aren’t as stiff and tense as they usually are.

I don’t expect the really noticeable changes to start occurring much before June.

June is my vacation month, so I am expecting to go back to work looking a little different than I did before my vacation.

That should be very entertaining……..

A co-worker of mine whom is aware of my blog and my desire for M.A.i.D. has asked me if finally being able to transition will put an end to my desire for M.A.i.D.. I told them that we’d have to wait and see. We’ll have to see what awaits in 2027.

Anyways…… ’nuff for now.

The adventure begins.

So, tomorrow I go in and get my blood withdrawn for my baseline.

Who knew that playing with hormones could be so interesting.

If everything goes as planned then I should start hormone therapy in a couple of weeks.

Still really don’t know what to expect, but it should be interesting.

On a different note, I can only wonder what I should have been doing with my life all of this time.

I honestly don’t like technical work. It’s something that I can do, but it’s not something that I really like.

But I do have the ability to read. And my ability to reason is very good.

Not bad for a grade 8 dropout, eh?

I just finished the upgrade project for the mixing boxes in the operating rooms. The old mixing boxes were obsolete, parts were unavailable, and the controls for them were unreliable and obsolete.

So, I went ahead and sourced out some brand new Price mixing boxes with integrated PIC controls.

The project got delayed a few months, but it was finally completed two weeks ago.

I’ve never worked with BACnet before earlier this year when I installed my first BACnet system to monitor a bunch or room temperatures in one for the buildings to economize the use of steam.

Since installing my first BACnet network back around March, I’ve expanded this to seven BACnet networks. The interesting thing about using the MSA BACnet routers is that I can log into the equipment no matter where I am in the world.

This screen shows the BACnet devices on the Operating Room network, network #11302. These are all of the brand new mixing boxes that were installed to replace the obsolete mixing boxes that were causing problems.

And the below shots show some of the information available from the mixing boxes.

I can do this work, but it’s not something that brings me any type of happiness or joy. In fact this brings me some discomfort.

See, there are a lot of guys at work that think that I’m an asshole and that I’m not teaching them this stuff because I want to make them look bad.

I never went to trade school, I never went to technical college, I never went to fucking anywhere to learn this stuff. No one taught me this shit. I just fucking read. Read and use some fucking logic.

I didn’t want to end up a power engineer. But power engineering was the only thing available to a person like me to keep me from a life of welfare wage jobs and intermittent homelessness.

I honestly have no fucking idea of what I wanted to do with my life. I was never supposed to have been alive at this point.

And with a non-stop chorus of my father and Captain Totzke screaming and yelling in my head, along with my never ending battles with major depression and severe anxiety, I don’t think that any options would have ever really been open for me.

I can only wonder what could have been my potential.

Saturday April 6th, 2024

On Monday I’m back to work.

It’s been a fun 15 days away from work.

Still have 20 days left of vacation time.

I think the first 7 days I barely got out of bed.

Dreamland is such a pleasant place to visit, so much nicer than reality.

The rest of the time I was getting out of bed super, super late.

Tuesday I’ve got an appointment with my nurse practitioner. I’ll have a pretty interesting decision to make.

He’s kinda apprehensive. He wants to know if I’ve ever had any involvement in the trans community before. I told him that I had been involved with some groups in the mid ’00s, but the fact that I’m a socially isolated loner meant that I didn’t stick around them for too long.

Beside, I don’t want to transition into a woman. I want to transition into neither. Not male. Not female.

Sex has been an unmitigated disaster for me.

To officially be neither, but to have bits of both intrigues me.

My NP has warned me that I’m pretty old and my masculine features are pretty hard set. I told him that I’m fine with that, that I’m not looking to be female. I just don’t want anything associated with male.

He cautioned me that people might not be too accepting.

I’m covered in tattoos from head to toe.

I have a lot of facial piercings.

I wear dresses and heels.

I work with trades that are normally dominated by “Real Manly Men….. Grrrrrr(tm)(c)”

At work I put up with people who won’t give me the time of day due to the way I am.

Having breasts and less muscle mass isn’t going to be much of a game changer for me.

And really, I’ve seen guys with bigger breasts than I intend to have. They usually call those “Molson Man Tiddies”…… but I digress.

The NP says that there is a risk of blood clot and stroke with taking oral or intramuscular Estrogen at my stage in life. Fine, dermal patch it will be.

The lawyers are still working away on the class action, nothing to report on that front.

I am beginning to accept that the DOJ and the DND will succeed in their endeavour to hide this mess from the public.

Sometimes I wonder if things would have been better off and if I listened to Richard’s warning to me about sticking my nose into this shit. Sure, knowing the truth about Canadian Forces Base Namao is one thing. But knowing the truth really hasn’t changed anything. Pedophiles and child molesters who had successful careers in the Canadian Armed Forces prior to 1998 and who got away with their crimes due to the 3-year-time-bar flaw and the summary investigation flaw get to enjoy their retirement knowing that they can’t ever be touched by military or civilian tribunals. And the victims of these perverts get laughed at by the Canadian Armed Forces and the Department of National Defence because neither of these agencies can be compelled by any civilian authority to admit that these flaws impacted children living on the bases.

Until next time……..

Resting Bitch Face………

I’ve come to the realization that I suffer from a bad case of “Resting Bitch Face”.

Here’s an album of my “Resting Bitch Face” in Canada, America, and Iceland…..

What causes Resting Bitch Face?

Probably a life time of being dead on the inside.

It’s hard at work because I gotta fake a smile all the time otherwise people seem to think that I’m going to snap.

It’s not that I hate or despise perky people. I just don’t feel the need to run around all day with an insane grin on my face.

In my house there was no need to smile.

The best thing around grandma, Richard, or Sue was to just adopt a blank face.

And growing up keeping a blank face also work at school as it kept the other kids and the teachers from knowing that anything was wrong at home.

When I went to the Westfield program in Edmonton from June 1982 to March 1983 we had to talk about our “feelings”. We also had to do “temperature check” every morning before classes so that we could express our feelings and emotions.

This did not go over well with me. I hated it. I hated talking about feelings.

Richard, Grandma, and the events of CFB Namao had killed off just about every emotion that I ever had.

Even to this day the worst thing that you could do is ask me to express emotions, or talk about my feelings, of talk about personal things.

“You don’t like to talk about personal things?”

Get the fuck outta here!

What the fuck is this blog then?

This blog is therapy and a testament.

Besides, I talk about what I want to talk about when I want to talk about it.

But Bobbie, you gotta talk about your feelings if you want to get better……..

Nope.

That’s not how this works.

You don’t get to ignore the past and then wash your hands of my dysfunction by further blaming me for being me.

Don’t forget, a lot of my dysfunction didn’t come from bad personal choice. Almost all of my dysfunction can be traced back directly to bad decisions made by members of the Canadian Armed Forces.

You didn’t honestly think that what I endured wasn’t going to have an effect on me, did you?

And blaming me for the dysfunction wasn’t going to cure me.

I think that this may be one of the reasons that I embraced an eccentric manner of dressing, what I lack on the inside I cover up with nice colours, patterns, and designs on the outside.

BCHRT Update

In 2015 the Supreme Court of Canada issued its decision in the CARTER matter.
The Supreme Court of Canada said this:
“of no force or effect to the extent that they prohibit physician-assisted death for a competent adult person who (1) clearly consents to the termination of life and (2) has a grievous and irremediable medical condition (including an illness, disease or disability) that causes enduring suffering that is intolerable to the individual in the circumstances of his or her condition.”

The Government of Canada agreed with this decision and prmossied to introduce legislation to allow competent adults suffering from Mental Illness to receive assistance in having their lives terminated.

It’s now 11 years after the decision, and the Government of Canada still insists on denying me the right to end my life with the assitance of a trained professional. The Government of Canada has just added an additional 3 years of suffering to my life. And there’s no indication that in 2027 the Government will finlly allow me to obtain the peace that I desire.