I’ve spent my life in the trades. I was the guy who showed up no matter the weather, no matter how .much my body screamed. We all know the code: We’re supposed to be tough. We’re supposed to be built different. We’re tradesmen and tradeswomen—we’re supposed to bleed on the job and not say a f***ing word about it. Instead of going for stitches, we use Crazy Glue and duct tape. We patch our own skin like we’re fixing a leak, wipe the blood on our tools, and get right back to the tools. That was my life. That was my pride.

But today, I’m standing here telling you I’m ashamed. Because I’m not that person anymore.

The person who could just keep bleeding and get back to the tools is gone. I feel weak. I’m broken. And it’s the most humiliating thing I’ve ever had to admit to a group of people who tie their boots and patch their wounds the same way I did.

About a year ago, the WCB took that pride and used it to bury me.

I had a workplace accident—a simple slip that tore my knee to pieces. I filed my Form 6 thinking the Board would have my back. Instead, I’ve been met with a level of cold-blooded disregard that has stripped me of my dignity.

The WCB’s Betrayal is Total:

* The 12-Hour Paycheck Cowardice: They wait until 12 hours before payday to send a decision letter cutting you off. They backdate the letters to make it look like they gave you notice, but they wait until the last possible second to cut your lifeline.

* Ignoring Their Own Experts: They brought in SWAT workers and Crisis workers. Their own staff documented that I was in a state of crisis—including suicidal ideation and "death by cop" levels of despair. They saw the warnings, and they did absolutely nothing. They threw me to the curb when they knew I was at my breaking point.

* The Privacy Breach & The Forced Reliving: They leaked my personal information and then forced me to be the one to constantly share the story of that breach just to try and get help. Every time I share my story and get no help, I get worse.

This isn’t just "stress." It feels like I’m f***ing swimming through concrete.

Because the "supports" failed me, I live in constant fight-or-flight. Simple eye contact is a daily f***ing fear of mine. It triggers a panic so intense I feel like I'm in immediate danger of dying. My body doesn't know who to trust because the people who were supposed to help me are the ones who broke me.

Right now, I am hunkered down in a broken-down van. It’s a cage I was forced into. I am not here by choice. I am here because the WCB’s failures took my livelihood, my safety, and my world. The fear of being in public scares the absolute s*** out of me—I am trapped in this van because the outside world feels like a threat I can't face.

I am fighting back—but I’m being blocked.

I desperately need legal advice, but I don’t have a dime, and no lawyers will help you unless you have a retainer upfront. Despite the law, the WCB has left me with no means to hold them accountable.

This is why I am starting this GoFundMe.

I am raising a war chest for legal representation, private psychiatric care, and to secure a reliable vehicle. My current van is barely running; if it dies, I lose the only place I feel safe. I need a way to stay mobile while I fight this battle.

Anything helps. Seriously. If you’ve got a dime, I’ll take it. But I also need your encouragement and your stories. If you’ve been screwed by the WCB—man or woman—tell me. Let’s use that fuel to show them we aren't just isolated files—we are a brotherhood and sisterhood they can't just throw to the curb.

For anyone who needs to know this is real:

This is not a scam. I am a tradesman who has fallen hard and is fighting to get back up. With proper consent and confidentiality, I am willing to provide full documentation of my workplace injury, my WCB claim, and the official reports of the privacy breach to any donor or organization that needs proof. Every cent of this fund will go directly to these specific costs—nothing else.

Don’t let the system bury another one of us.

Respectfully,

Terry