Getting close

My journey towards death keeps progressing.

I really was hoping to do more videos and blogs, but at this point in my life I am a one topic person.

And it’s not like this was the easiest story to find out.

The vast majority of it, in fact well over 90% of it had remained hidden from me all of these years.

I was the homosexual, I was the pervert, I ruined everything.

Do you understand how fucking mind destroying it was to discover the truth in August of 2011?

Discover that everything that I had known up to that point in time was an absolute lie?

I suffered so much.

Even though I had been diagnosed with major depression, severe anxiety, and a host of other mental health issues, I was never allowed to receive treatment.

Instead I’d be on the receiving end of my father’s mental and physical abuse and my stepmother’s mental and physical abuse.

Even when my mental health had deteriorated to the point that my civilian social workers were calling for me to first be placed in a psychiatric facility for children, and then removed from the home for my own welfare, those options were denied to me.

So, I suffered alone through grade school and junior high school.

Always getting picked on.

Always getting beat up.

I was an easy target for sexual abuse as what happened with the babysitter was obviously my fault, so any older man who wanted to sleep with me while I lived on Canadian Forces Base Downsview in Toronto was obviously my fault, right?

I asked for it. I mean I obviously asked the babysitter to molest me and my brother, so I must have been asking for what happened in Toronto.

Even when I was just about 16 and I nearly got strangled in High Park, I never said anything as it was obviously my fault.

I was forever hesitant to bring up the topic of Earl as I was sure that no one would believe me and that my own father would blame. During Earl’s criminal trial his defence counsel tried to imply that because I was over the age of 14 that everything had been consensual.

When I dropped out of school back in 1987, it wasn’t because I was having major difficulty with major depression or severe anxiety or because I had a “funny walk” or because I was an obvious faggot because I didn’t like girls. Nope, I dropped out of school because I was a lazy self centred asshole who thought of no one put himself.

Two years later when Mr. Bowles, Mr. Ford, and Mr. Aitken wrote letters to the North York Board of Education vouching for me to allow me to enter the Alternative and Independent Study Program (AISP) Richard didn’t give a shit. He said that if I wanted to live under his roof I had to go to a “real” school and fucking sit there, stare at the blackboard, and take some “fucking basket weaving courses”.

I ended up having to move out and quit school for the second time when I refused to leave AISP and go to a “normal school”.

See, what I was enduring from my father wasn’t just neglect. It wasn’t just physical abuse. It was mental destruction.

I had fucked with Richard’s career goals, and I was going to pay the fucking price.

It was my fault that I couldn’t keep the babysitter’s hands of my brother’s body.

Me? I was a homosexual so no wonder I allowed the babysitter to molest me.

It was my fault that Richard and Sue had to move into the PMQ with us on Canadian Forces Base Namao even through Richard was more than happy living off base with Susan.

It was my fault we moved from Canadian Forces Base Namao to Canadian Forces Base Griesbach.

It was my fault that we became involved with the military social worker in October of 1980.

It was my fault that we became involved with Alberta Social Services in November of 1981.

It was my fault that we had to move to Canadian Forces Base Downsview in Ontario in April of 1983 to avoid my apprehension by Alberta Social Services. This of course ruined Richard’s plans so far as being a Boeing VTOL factory trained maintenance technician on the CH-147 Chinooks.

So, it’s not that Richard didn’t care or give a shit.

Richard was actively seeking retribution.

And I was going to pay the fucking price for what I had done.

It’s not just the never ending depression that I have to deal with.

It’s not the never ending anxiety.

It’s the memories of back then.

It’s Captain Totzke telling me that I was a homosexual.

It’s Captain Totzke telling me that I’d end up in prison.

It’s Captain Totzke telling me that I was going to be just like the babysitter.

It’s Captain Totzke telling me and my father that sports were not an option for me as I’d be sexually aroused by naked boys in the change room.

It’s my father telling me that I couldn’t go swimming because there’d be naked boys in the change room and that I wouldn’t be able to control myself.

It’s the memories of pissing the bed and going to school smelling like piss.

It’s the memories of sitting in school on CFB Griesbach and being able to run my hands through my hair and having clumps of hair come out.

It’s the memories of having to play outside in the Edmonton winters with clothing that was not even suitable for spring.

The physical and mental abuse at the hands of my grandmother, my father, and Sue don’t help much either.

I think the real final nail in my coffin so-to-speak was the sham 2011 CFNIS investigation which “couldn’t find any evidence that the babysitter was capable of what I accused him of” even though the CFNIS had the 1980 CFSIU DS-120-10-80 investigation paperwork that literally backed up everything I had said about Captain McRae and the babysitter.

As you can see, there’s more to my desire of death than just some silly little bit of depression.