The DPJ Took My Babies Away Part One: Past Is Prologue

Quebec’s DPJ: Direction de la protection de la Jeunesse.

My sworn enemies, blood curse laid upon them all. So, how did it happen?

The DPJ took my babies away
They took them away
Away from me
The DPJ took my babies away
They took them away
Away from me

And that’s as funny as I’m going to be able to be.

The prologue first requires backstory:

During our marriage, my wife and I were mutually hostile. But her behavior, I only realized when I’d broken free of her when we separated, had been especially abusive towards me.

I don’t know when it got really bad, exactly; but I remember from the beginning, everything she did she expected praise and thanks for, while everything I did was just what was expected of me. The first time I had a book published, she showed all the enthusiasm as a reptile on a particularly warm rock. And yet, any successful project of hers that I didn’t have unbridled enthusiasm for would result in either a demeaning verbal barrage or a crying jag that made me feel like a monster from the manipulation.

From the time we were married she started by isolating me from my friends; I couldn’t go visit them in other towns because “there wasn’t any money.” She and her friends were allowed to go out every weekend – well, not allowed; I had no say in the matter. She’d go on road-trips with her friends, spending hundreds of dollars, just to follow their favorite band on tour. But God forbid I buy a toy or game or Nifty Thing I liked without permission; there’d be hell to pay.

She policed what I ate but shut me down if I ever tried doing the same…she’d verbally assault me until I was in an emotional meltdown, and then blame me if I lashed out by shouting at her or punching or striking inanimate objects.

I NEVER raised a hand or made a threat against her. The same cannot be said of her. She’d even punch me – not little slaps or playful smacks, full on punches – in the arm, the back of the head, sometimes kick…anytime she was angry enough or suddenly triggered by something I said – especially if I made a joke, or shared a laugh with her family – who roasted everyone constantly – at her expense. She monitored my socials, and my phone calls with friends. I used to go writing every weekend. After my darling wife put a ring on it I went down to once every two weeks, to once a month, if I was lucky, after arguing about it. She’d gaslight me by saying there was never any money for anything…but her needs were always met. She’d belittle me constantly, convincing me I was oafish, clumsy and incompetent – and yet she was always having me do shit around the house while she stood there and watched. And yes; I had a temper issue, and I would raise my voice easily. But when she started learning how to trigger my temper, she learned how to use it to whiplash me into guilt by immediately saying how mean I was. Yet I would have to sit/stand silently whenever she decided to spend twenty minutes to an hour berating me at full volume.

I don’t remember when, exactly it was I started smoking pot again, but it was mainly to cope with how lonely she made me feel, how upset she could make me. It gave me something that was mine, and gave me a sense of well-being, for hours after I’d smoked.

But it was well after she’d already started treating me like an employee instead of a partner.

I remember there were only two phrases that were extremely rare to hear from her: “Please,” and “I love you.”

She said she showed love by what she did. But what she did was all in expectation of constant praise and adulation.

That’s not only narcissistic and cruel, it’s fucking exhausting.

At some point, maybe because of my “low class” upbringing, the fact that there wasn’t anyone wealthy in my family who was open to direct nepotism (and in spite of the fact her family had built generational wealth THROUGH nepotism – for everyone but her [now I understand better why.]) or the fact that she had to work and couldn’t just stay home and take care of the house (She had Tradwife fantasies before they were cool) like she wanted to.

I was expected to do anything. And when I rebelled, we had Troubles.

Things were better after Obi-Wan was born, but they never really got anywhere near good. And just before the Twins were born, I was arrested for posting a very volatile political message on social media.

After that, my wife couldn’t get rid of me fast enough.

Originally, she wanted me to have my own place, but come to hers to see the kids, seven days a week; after work immediately during the weekdays until the kids went to bed. and from dawn to dusk the weekends.

I would have loved to be able to do that, but…I wasn’t eating supper there; I would have to come home from work, scarf a quick meal and then go over. By the time I’d get home it would be so late I couldn’t properly unwind before going to bed.

That schedule also left me no room to buy groceries or do housework or laundry; I had to ARGUE to have Sunday free to, not rest and relax (despite being chronically exhausted from undiagnosed hemorrhagic anemia,) but to RUN ERRANDS FOR THE COMING WEEK AND TAKE CARE OF ALL ACCUMULATED HOUSEHOLD CHORES before collapsing for as much rest as I could get before work the next day.

Once we’d established the six-day schedule, if anything would happen, even once, to inconvenience on a weeknight, say I had to work late, or got sick, discovered that my apartment building was being fumigated for bedbugs, I’d lose the “privilege” of seeing the kids that day.

Then, she would arbitrarily and almost randomly keep pruning my time with the kids, until I only saw them weekends.

Likewise, she made sure to schedule any special events with her family so that they’d fall on MY weekends with the kids. And I’m not talking about Oh, X’s birthday is this weekend; I’m talking X did/got/accomplished Y, so I scheduled a surprise party for your weekend.

She would hurt me, punish me, after we were separated, by taking away my time with the kids. I wonder if she realized how much more she was hurting our children by doing that.

At some point when I was still seeing them on weekends until she decided to make it every OTHER weekend.

Every time I lost more time with my children, it was because she decided I’d done something to deserve it.

And then, in 2021, because my wife went on vacation and left the kids with her mother, like a normal, responsible single parent, someone in her family called the DPJ and told them that she had abandoned the kids for two weeks, and that they lived in squalor; two easily disproven lies. Sometimes I wonder if she didn’t call the report in on herself, just so she could get the DPJ to target me. Given what they put me through, I would not be surprised.

So of course after the report was made, the DPJ investigated her, even questioning me about her. Despite the fact that I was open with them and vehemently defended her as a good mother (as abusive as she was toward me, she is one of the most loving, most nurturing, deserving mothers I’ve ever met,) once they cleared her of any wrongdoing, they decided to start finding fault with me.

While waiting for the Access to Information Commission to get back to me about accessing my DPJ file (Which I know has incriminating communications between social workers and my ex wife conspiring against me,) I have taken the time to carefully curate my emails going back to 2021 into an organized series, and filtered the emails according to topic and type of attack on my person, and my dignity as a Human Being.

Now that we’ve the Prologue out of the way, starting with my next post I will be detailing how the DPJ began to actively sabotage my rights and dignity as a father, as a man, and as a Human Being.

In coming posts, I will discuss how they attempted to sabotage or sabotaged outings I tried to have with my kids; how they worked to alienate me from my children; I’ll talk in detail about how they tried to coach my daughter into saying I’d sexually abused her, when, it should go without saying, I would never do any such thing; in coming posts I’ll talk about how they selectively edited every interview or session I had with them, even my family court testimony, and how even the judges of family court in Quebec are biased.

And because I’m not naming names, there’s not a goddamned thing they can do about it.

I’m documenting this because I will take this to the Human Rights Commission, the media and beyond if I have to; because these arrogant cunts have stolen my children from me, stolen the last years of their childhood from me, and kept me from them for so long that I don’t know if I’d even recognize them if I saw them again face-to-face.

The next several posts will speak truth to power; I did not start this fight, but I will finish it; one way or another.

I really do wish I was blogging about how to be a successful indie author or even about my forthcoming Author’s Edition of They Came in Peace, but the Direction de protection de la jeunesse du Quebec has so sabotaged me and my life that my self-respect, my sanity will not allow it to go unreported, any longer.

My voice is the only thing they cannot take from me. I will exercise every last measure available to me under the law; and when those avenues are exhausted I will find novel means to continue my struggle.

And this is the only place you’ll be able to read about it!

Until next time, dear readers.