Tag: mental-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.

Why don’t you talk about what you do for a living?

I get asked this question a lot.

I have to be very careful what I say and who I say things to.

Due to my major depression and my severe anxiety I don’t “hang out” with the crew. And a lot of the crew at work interpret this as an “air of superiority”.

Just as I’ve never brought up my issues at work, I don’t really have any interest in who went fishing, or who went on vacation, or who bought a new car. Small talk doesn’t do anything for me.

And there are those that view that as being hostile.

It’s not hostility, it’s just that those things were never on my radar in my personal life.

I’m in the position that I’m in because I want to see that things are done. In the recent past I’ve worked under chief engineers who wanted to do the absolute least as this was the easiest course of action. And of course they would just turn around and blame the assistant shift engineers and the shift engineers when things went absolutely sideways.

Yes, I realize that with my skills I should be elsewhere making the big bucks and advancing my career. But if you know anything about my past you’ll know how hard it was for me to get to where I am.

And I don’t mean that I am limited by my lack of technical skills or my technical knowledge.

Dealing with major depression and severe anxiety that was diagnosed in my childhood, but for which I was not allowed to receive treatment due to the environment that I grew up in meant that my life has been a non-stop constant fight with the factions inside my brain.

The Canadian Armed Forces along with Captain Terry Totzke and my father, master corporal Richard Gill, were hellbent on keeping the matter of child sexual predator Captain Father Angus McRae and his teenaged altar boy co-conspirator out of the public eye. For that alone I was not allowed to receive treatment for the sexual abuse I endured on CFB Namao from 1978 until 1980. I guess that the logic and reasoning behind those decisions was that if I went into the civilian child care system or was even admitted to a psychiatric hospital to receive the care that I needed, the truth about Canadian Forces Base Namao would hit the local media and then the national media.

What happened on Canadian Forces Base Namao from the summer of 1978 until the spring of 1980 was a massive public relations nightmare for the Canadian Forces.
So much so that the military at the time wasn’t going to risk ANYONE discovering what happened on that base.

This meant that I was sent on a crash course towards failure and that I would never achieve the potential that I could have.

All my life has been a non-stop battle with the voice of Captain Totzke in my head telling me that I was going to grow up to be just like the babysitter because I had “allowed” myself and my brother to be abused by McRae’s altar boy.

All my life has been a non-stop battle with the voice of my father in my head yelling and screaming at me for having “fucked with his military career” and that I was to blame for the way my brother turned out.

And as I’ve alluded to in other posts, what drives me around the bend is when trades, contractors, vendors, co-workers, or even managers tut-tut me for “wasting my life” and “taking the easy path” and “just not working hard like the rest of us”.

Another fun aspect is when people with certificates, degrees, diplomas, or licences get upset with me for intentionally withholding information from them just to make them look bad.

For all of my lack of formal training and formal education I get verbal tongue lashings and hostilities when I don’t provide answer at the snap of a finger.

I know what I know, if I don’t know the answer, I can’t give it to you no matter how angry you get. You have the degree, or the diploma, or the certificate, or the licence. You should be telling me how to do this. If you want me to tell you, you’re gonna have to give me a little bit while I go R.T.F.M. to get you the answer that you’re craving.

I primarily do what I do at work to prove to myself that I am capable of doing what I’ve been told that I’m not smart enough or qualified enough to do.

There are so many things that I have improved, or upgraded, or implemented that I dare not take credit for because I don’t have a degree, or a certificate, or a licence, or a diploma. But they do give me a sense of satisfaction none the less.

I have people with the degrees, with the certificates, with the licences, and even with the diplomas coming to me for advice, or for instructions on how to do things, or program things, or set things up.

But Bobbie, you enjoy all of this technical stuff!

Do I?

Are you sure that I really enjoy this?

Or maybe this field is something that my ability to read, and to reason, allowed me to function well in.

I’ve never really known what I’ve wanted to do with my life.

I can’t imagine that if I had been given the chance to have my major depression and severe anxiety treated, and that I had been allowed to finish school, to go to college, or go to university, that I would be doing this for a living.

And this is why I don’t really address work or the day to day stuff on my blog.

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.

And then there was one

I used to have two blogs. This blog and cfbnamao.ca

cfbnamao.ca is now set to redirect to bobbiebees.ca

I’ve come to the frustrating conclusion that nobody is actually listening to anything I have to say, so instead of wasting money on two sites, I’m just going to run this site for now.

I’ll try to keep this site going for a little while.

The problem that I have is that child sexual abuse in the Canadian Armed Forces is such a niche topic.

In the civilian world the justice system generally works as it should.

The military doesn’t have a justice system, it has a disciplinary system.

Victims are of absolutely no concern to the military justice system.

The military system is more concerned with disciplining the service member.

Sure, we’ve had child sexual abuse in the catholic church, in the catholic run orphanages, in the Indian residential schools, in the boy scouts, in minor hockey, in minor baseball, in professional sports like the Maple Leaf Gardens. There’s even been kiddie diddlers in police forces and the juvenile justice system. But no one seems willing to believe that child sexual abuse would occur behind the barbed wire fences that encircled the bases and the PMQs on base.

I have no hobbies or other topics that would appeal to anyone.

The only thing that I really have going is my desire to be dead.

1805295600

  days

  hours  minutes  seconds

until

M.A.i.D. for mental illness is legalized

And I really don’t need two blogs for this.

A person can only do so much yelling into the void before they begin to realize that the void is empty and has nothing to offer.

I have about $10k worth of camera equipment at home that I know how to use, but taking pictures doesn’t fill me with anything.

I just bought a Raspberry Pi5 with some nice peripherals. Got it set up. And remembered that the reason that I never accomplished anything with the Pis that I’ve owned before is I have no drive or ambition to do anything.

And truth be told, getting yelled at by my father for being an idiot and pretending to be something that I’m not is something that I want to avoid. Yeah, sure, Richard is dead, but he lives in my head. After what he put me through as a kid he owns a large mansion inside of my skull. He always has lived there.

Work? Yeah, work is a paycheque. Keeps me fed with a roof over my head. So I guess I should be lucky.

A song that I like

I forget how and when I first heard Free by Mike Errico.

It’s a song that I really like.

It speaks volumes to my involvement with the counsellors and psychs from my younger days on Canadian Forces Base Griesbach.

http://Skimming by Mike Errico https://music.apple.com/ca/album/skimming/295594004

Mike Errico – Free

They sent me here to rest
to get the weight off of my chest
while they work 9 to 5
cheat on husbands and wives
and tell me I’m the one who’s depressed

And I’m left to define what’s insane
to the same folks who jailed Galileo
and explain him away

They
who are we
who are wondering which one of us
is free

free

free

free

I went places you just don’t go
I saw things you can’t tell them you know
And if they’re smiling stark naked
sometimes is just wiser
to compliment the cut of their clothes
And know they define what’s insane
based upon what makes them look good
at the end of the day

They
who are we
who are wondering which one of us
is free

free

free

free

But I’m the one chained to the bed
That’s just proof I got into their heads
And I witnessed their colourless landscapes
Saw the lovers who were too bored to stay
And walked the grey roads of their memories
that just stop at the end of the page
They’re a little too sad to hate
They’re just children who ran
out of paint

I’m up for review in a month
and I’ll watch them drink water from crystalline glasses
They’ll sit and stare like smoke damaged chairs
around a smouldering pile of ashes
And I’ll try to define what’s insane
to the same folks who consistently kill those
with something to say

They
who are we
who are wondering which one of us
is free.

free

free

free

yeah

free

free

A risk……. that didn’t and did work out.

Daily writing prompt
When is the last time you took a risk? How did it work out?
View all responses

The last time that I took a risk of any consequence was when I disobeyed my father’s wishes and I went to the Edmonton Police Service in 2011 and tried to report my former babysitter for molesting my brother and I on Canadian Forces Base Namao from 1978 to 1980.

In 2006 when, I first broached the topic of the babysitter with my father, he heavily cautioned me against trying to report the babysitter because if I insisted on sticking my nose into this I might not like the way the shit was going to smell.

For me, reporting the babysitter was extremely important. After all, up to that point in time my father had blamed me at every opportunity for allowing the babysitter to molest my younger brother. If I hadn’t let the babysitter molest Scott, then Scott wouldn’t have been in non-stop trouble with the law.

Richard was really upset that Scott was so dependent on Richard to meet his needs in order for Scott to stay somewhat functional.

I went up to Edmonton in the summer of 2003 to visit Richard after not having seen him since moving to Vancouver in 1992. I thought that he’d be pleased to see me.

After all, when Scott moved to the Vancouver area in 1996, Richard had contacted me a couple of times to help Scott out with his car. Dead starter one time. Broken throttle cable one time. Wheel bearings another time.

Nope.

I spent more time hanging out with the stepmother that I never got along with as a kid.

Richard barely had the time of day for me, except to explain to me that he was still upset with what I allowed to happen to Scott because Scott was having so many difficulties. Richard whined about having to currently pay Scott’s rent so that Scott wouldn’t try moving back in to Richard’s house in Morinville.

Richard also whined about being “forced” to give Scott his ’83 Mustang GT. Or how he had no choice but to give Scott Sue’s old ’89 Thunderbird after Scott totalled the Mustang on one of Edmonton’s many traffic circles.

When I told Richard that I had obtained my 5th Class Power Engineering certificate and that I was working towards my 4th Class Power Engineering certificate he didn’t care. Just said that no matter what certificate I had my stupid mouth and my stupid attitude were going to keep me unemployed.

I called Richard in September of 2005 to let him know that I landed a union position at a local hospital in the physical plant.

Didn’t give a shit.

Not in the slightest.

In fact he informed me that Scott had a job in a “card board box factory” and insinuated that with all of the struggles that Scott had overcome in his life that Scott’s employment meant far more than mine.

In August of 2006, after a night of drinking at various pride events in Vancouver, I called Richard and left him a couple of messages in which I unloaded both barrels on him.

I wasn’t expecting Richard to ever call back, but he did. I had never heard him whimper like this before in my life. He was like a big dog that just got the newspaper to the snout for pissing on the carpet.

It was your grandmother that hired P.S.

I didn’t like P.S. the first time I saw him.

I told your grandmother not to hire P.S.

And yes, my father used the babysitter’s name without any prompting.

My father called me every morning for the next couple of weeks, as if he was trying to make amends for the way things had been.

But everything came to a screeching halt after I told him that I was going to go to the police to report the babysitter.

“Somethings are best left in the past”

“Let sleeping dogs lie”

“If you stick your nose into this you’re not going to like the smell of the shit”

I didn’t make my complaint to the police right away.

I had legally changed my name in anticipation of transitioning and I had too many things on the go.

In February of 2011 I entered into an out of court settlement with another party in which I represented myself. The lawyer for the other party decided to make an offer to settle and after a bit of back and forth we settled.

Because of this settlement I decided to take my chances with the babysitter.

Without criminal charges it would be near impossible to bring any type of meaningful civil action against the babysitter.

And that’s how I ended up contacting the Edmonton Police Service on March 4th, 2011.

And as we all know, things didn’t work out as planned.

I did learn some interesting things though.

And learning things was better than not learning things.

I learnt for example that my father was right, that I wasn’t going to like the smell of the shit if I stuck my nose into the events of Canadian Forces Base Namao.

I learnt that no matter which base we were stationed at, civilian social services or medical staff were concerned about my father.

I learnt that my mother didn’t abandon the family, but that my father used the Defence Establishment Trespass Regulations to have my mother booted out of the PMQ after she threatened to take my brother and I away due to his out of control drinking and physical violence.

I learnt that the child sexual abuse scandal on Canadian Forces Base Namao was far larger than what I could ever have imagined.

I learnt that the Canadian Armed Forces considered a 52 year old military chaplain with the rank of captain having sexual relations with children as young as four years of age after imbibing them with alcohol in the rectory of the base chapel was nothing more than “acts of homosexuality” thus implying that the victims of McRae were just as guilty as McRae was.

I learnt that Terry, my much reviled “shrink” in the days after the sex abuse scandal on CFB Namao, was actually a social worker in the Canadian Armed Forces with the rank of captain.

I learnt that Canadian Forces Administrative Order CFAO 19-20 explained why Terry had such a massive concern about my perceived willing participation in the “homosexual” abuse on CFB Namao and that if I didn’t get my “homosexual” urges under control that I would be going to the Alberta Hospital for psychiatric treatments.

I learnt that due to the military’s official policies against homosexuality which viewed homosexuality as a mental illness, a deviancy, and a character flaw, most parents did not want it known that their children had been involved with “acts of homosexuality” and kept their children out of the investigation.

I learnt that my family’s infamous move from Canadian Forces Base Griesbach, AB, to Canadian Forces Base Downsview, ON, in April of 1983 was not to avoid my social workers “giving me drugs to keep me from being attracted to other boys” like my father had said at the time, but was instead to avoid my apprehension by Alberta Social Services due to their concern for my safety in the home.

I learnt that a flaw contained within the National Defence Act prior to 1998 gave commanding officers within the Canadian Forces prosecutorial discretion over criminal code offences committed by their subordinates.

I learnt that another flaw contained within the National Defence Act prior to 1998 placed a 3-year-time-bar on all criminal code offences, including criminal code offences that do not have a statute of limitations.

I learnt that my father was described by social services as “often telling conflicting stories” from one meeting to the next, and “telling people he perceived to be in positions of authority what he thought they wanted to hear”. In other words, my father was a habitual liar and a sycophant.

I learnt from paperwork that I obtained from various agencies across Canada that everything that my father said during my childhood was basically a lie.

I learnt that the military justice system was defective, but that the CAF, the DND, and their various predecessors had always fought with parliament against reforming the military justice system.

I learnt that the CAF and the DND can use the Official Secrets Act and the Security of Information Act as cudgels to gag anyone who was ever subjected to the Code of Service Discipline to silence.

I learnt that the Canadian Forces Military Police and the Canadian Forces National Investigation Service are soldiers first and police officers second and that nothing in the National Defence Act places members outside of the Chain of Command and as such member of the base military police and the CFNIS must obey the lawful command of anyone with a rank superior to theirs.

I learnt that the Vice Chief of Defence Staff which is not a member of law enforcement has the right under the National Defence Act to direct any CFNIS investigation as they see fit.

I also learnt that the Supreme Court of Canada frowns upon the structure of the Canadian Forces Military Police Group as due to the hierarchy of the Canadian Forces the Minister of National Defence functions as the “chief of police” and has ultimate control over the military police even though it would be the Minister’s office that would be subjected to possible civil actions resulting from the outcomes of military police or CFNIS investigations. This is why civilian police always bring in police from other jurisdictions to investigate matters which may place the city of the first police agency at risk of civil actions.

I’ve also learnt that when people die, it doesn’t really matter for more than a few days, or maybe weeks, before everything goes on like nothing ever mattered.

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.

My dream home

Daily writing prompt
Write about your dream home.
View all responses

What would my dream home be like?

I don’t know.

I never lived in a place that I would call a “home”.

And I never lived in any place that I would call a “dream home”.

The houses I lived in were all fucking traumatizing nightmares, and I don’t mean that they all had the same fucking paint scheme no matter which base they were located on. Living in an abusive dysfunctional family in military housing on military bases was the traumatizing nightmare.

I grew up living in Private Married Quarters on Canadian Forces Bases.

And with my rage prone alcohol fuelled father, these weren’t homes.

They were houses.

It’s where I kept my shit.

It’s where I slept at night.

It’s where I was absolutely terrified to ask my father for help with school homework as that would launch him into a rage and fury.

From the time my mother left in 1977 until September of 1985, I never had a birthday. In 1985, no doubt due to my father’s rampage in the PMQ during the summer of 1985, I had a “birthday” of sorts. A small cake and a $20 bill. And a promise that he would never forget my birthday again. That was the last birthday of mine that he ever acknowledged. I guess once he realized that the base military police were not going to inform the Children’s Aid Society of Toronto about his massive meltdown in the PMQ in the summer of ’85 he didn’t have to pretend to give a shit about me any longer.

My alcoholic grandmother living in the PMQs and raising my brother and I didn’t make things any easier. If I had to take a wild guess, I think that my father got his mental issues from her. As much as he would claim that she was an alcoholic that was cruel to his children, he was the exact same.

When my father received his final posting in June of 1990 to go back to CFB Edmonton in anticipation of his retirement, he and my stepmother bought a house in Morinville, AB.

I lived in an actual house for the first time in my entire life. Not a military PMQ. Not a rooming house where I rented a room after I moved out of the PMQ on CFB Downsview when I was 16. An actual house, with walls that you could hang pictures on without fear of pissing off the base construction engineers.

Yeah, my stepmother had me booted out within a week of us moving from CFB Griesbach to Morinville.

She apparently did the same with my brother when he finished his sentence at the St. John’s Training School for Boys in Uxbridge, Ontario and moved to AB to stay with our father as Scott was still only 16 when he was released.

So yeah, never really did live in a real home as a kid.

I’m happy with my bachelor apartment.

It’s not too big.

Growing up in my father’s house it was either “go the fuck outside and stay the fuck outside until the lights come on” or ” get the fuck up to your bedroom and stay there” or “get the fuck to school”. There were no weekend nights playing boardgames or watching Disney on TV or any other family style of activities.

And that’s why I like my apartment.

I’m either sleeping all day, or I’m at work, or I’m out and about trying to keep my brain from ruminating over and over about what I could have done differently in life.

My apartment, just like the PMQs, is just a place where I store my shit, and go to sleep.

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.