Author: SteveKarmazenuk

I know this blog has no readership, which means I’m screaming into the void. I’m not on any social media anymore, I have no public presence, and I am a non-person, now. They took me away from my children. I have no family, no friends, no loved ones…no connections. I have nothing left to even hope for. And I’m so tired of being alone.

Why the fuck am I even here?

steve@karmazenuk.com

This is something that I’m not supposed to write.

Normally I would only discuss my writing, here, and not really anything personal. But I can’t talk about writing They Came in Peace without mentioning the personal struggles that I survived during the process. Among those struggles, was surviving alienation from my children for the last two years, and four years in total of fighting for my parental rights, with Quebec’s Department of Youth Protection.

The Direction de Protection de la Jeunesse, the DPJ, motivated by some fabrication of my abusive ex-wife, have gone out of their way to make sure I don’t have a relationship with my children.

Now every time I go out and see kids around their age I search their faces for anything I recognize; I haven’t seen my children in so long I can only imagine how they look, now.

I lie awake at night rebuking myself for every stupid, impudent act that led to this, hating myself for things I did, and hating the DPJ all the more because of what they’ve done to me.

I was admonished by the DPJ to not discuss this case, but the fact is, they so abused their authority in what they did that I feel the greater injustice would be letting them get away with it all without reproach. This organization is as corrupt and as authoritarian as everyone has ever told you. And here in Quebec, there is a hatred towards men, especially Anglophone men, that is built into the cultural subconscious: The DPJ was called originally to investigate my ex-wife. After they found she did little to nothing wrong and falling all over themselves while trying to offer her support and services, they turned their eye to me and took every aspect of my life apart to find fault with everything.

I know what my failings are; but they wouldn’t recognize anything that I’d achieved, and once again this week they reminded me of that fact again, when they told me they were going to extend their blockade against me until the fall, when they will divest themselves of the case and my ex-wife will be given full parental authority.

I may never see my children again; in my fight against the DYP they drove me into a nervous breakdown, and I lashed out at the social worker and it cost me the love and trust of my sons, and the presence of my daughter. They’ve stolen my fatherhood from me. The last time I hugged my children was the last time I hugged my children; they’re all young adults, now…the Direction de Protection de la Jeunesse stole the last years of my children’s childhood from me.

And they expect me to smile and say nothing as they continue fucking me, and thousands of others, over for petty reasons and minor issues. They act in bad faith and are never to be trusted.

For two years I’ve stayed awake at night, trying to sleep, trying not to cry…I miss my children, and they won’t be children if and when I ever see them again.

I dove headlong into the re-edit and minor cosmetic rewrite of They Came in Peace two years ago, when they cut me off from my kids. It was a story that grew out of apocalyptic and violent nightmares I had, over the course of a decade following my escape from an abusive ex-partner. How such a person can be such a wonderful mother is beyond me; but she is. She treated me like dogshit, made me feel like her employee instead of her partner. But, this isn’t about her.

This story is an exploration of so many different themes…I wouldn’t know where to start in unpacking what goes where in relation to what I was living through when I started the very first draft of TCiP. I don’t think I’d have survived, if I didn’t have this story to write, and now, to share.

It’s been twenty business days since I asked Quebec’s Youth Protection for a full copy of my file; I have not seen a single page.

It’s clear to me that H.S. and the rest of the Direction de Protection de la Jeunesse has no interest in the children in her care; only about creating and controlling the narrative around the story.

The book cover is coming along, but it’s an unremarkable process of emails between me and my cover artist, with various in-process sketches. I mean, the picture is going to be amazing, and Em is pouring herself into the work…but until I have a visual to show you, we have no common frame of reference to discuss matters.

But being a father alienated by a massive bureaucratic machine…I’ve got to start talking about it, now, before I get my hands on the file because if I don’t I fear the pain of it all may kill me.

And this is one place that my kids might actually still be able to hear from me.

My sons hate me; and Obi-Wan and Luke have cause, I will admit that. Not because of anything I did or said to them…but apparently my ex-wife doesn’t understand the concept of keeping private texts private. More on that later; probably in another post.

In 2022, I wanted to take my kids to Montreal ComicCon. And while telling me to my face that they supported it, in their files and conversations with my ex wife, M, the first social worker the DPJ put on this joke of a case, to make sure that under no circumstances were they going to let that happen. When I found out the truth and threw it in M’s face, she didn’t even do anything other than sneer angrily; that “How DARE you catch me lying to you?” look that some entitled women manage to generate.

Knowing my weakest point is the fact that I’m broke, they only agreed to let me go if I paid out of pocket for everything, myself. The kids wanted to cosplay, I was going to be cosplaying, so I had to buy their costumes out of pocket. My sister helped me, because she could see what they were trying to do, and knew I couldn’t afford to help the kids half as much as I wanted to.

I got to take them to ComicCon. The next year would be the last year I would see them, and I would never get to take them anywhere, ever again.

I’ll get into the role I’ve played and how the DPJ used it to crate a feedback loop of emotional blackmail that ultimately caused me to have a nervous breakdown. Right now, I’ve written about as much as I can stomach, today.

Before I finish, though, I want to tell Obi, Leia and Luke how much I miss you, how much I love you, and miss you. I won’t stop trying to reach you, but if you don’t want to have me in your lives, I will accept that. I am going to try, here, in this space, to explain what happened. And once I have the documentation, I’m going to expose what they did to me, what they did to our family.

I will love you forever and ever without breaking, and I hope and pray all day every day that the time before we see each other again is shorter than I fear.

If you are reading this blog, then you are already aware of the despicable and unethical practices of Quebec’s Direction de Protection de la Jeunesse.

You should already know that I am using this space to highlight everything these monolithic bastards have done to destroy my relationship with my children.

Well, now I’m about to get the documentation I need, so that I can take you all back to the beginning of this episode, when my relationship to Obi-Wan, Leia and Luke were first put in danger by the DPJ.

If you, like me, find yourself fighting the unjust bureaucratic machine of arbitrary judgement that is the DPJ, you will need the following information, if you wish to access your file:

You’ll email them to tell them they will find the following documents attached:

A written and HAND SIGNED formal request for information, including the names and birthdates of the child(ren) in question.

A full-color copy of your photo ID

Your complete mailing address.

IN THE INTERESTS OF READERS PLEASE NOTE THAT IF YOU WISH TO EXERCISE YOUR RIGHT TO SEE YOUR OWN FILE WITH THE DPJ, YOU MUST SEND A WRITTEN AND HAND SIGNED FORMAL REQUEST FOR INFORMATION, INCLUDING THE NAME(S) AND BIRTHDATE(S) OF THE CHILD(REN) IN QUESTION. YOU MUST INCLUDE WITH THIS WRITTEN REQUEST A FULL-COLOR COPY OF YOUR PHOTO ID

THIS INFORMATION MUST BE SENT TO THE ATTENTION OF THE DR. MURPHY BY MAIL, PREFERABLY REGISTERED LETTER, TO:

Dr. Murphy
1500 RUE SHERBROOKE E.
PAVILLION DESCHAMPS, PORTE F-113
MONTREAL, QC, CANADA H2L 4M1.

Once again, the purpose of providing you with this address is to allow you to file your access to your DPJ file requests properly.

DO NOT send your request by email! DO NOT send your request by fax!

The Commission a l’Access de l’Information du Quebec will ONLY accept requests for appeal a DPJ refusal that was originally sent to the above address.

However, if you do want to organize mass protests, you can most certainly do so outside any DPJ or family services location you have been referred to; that’s where your social workers are. That’s where you want to lay siege.

However, I’m not at the mass protest portion of the programme – yet – and I may never be. Though if the DPJ should break faith with me again, well…Cry “Havoc!” and let slip the Dogs of War! as Shakespeare said.

Stay tuned!

Early this afternoon I received a phone call from a very panicked H.S., Grand Poobah for the DPJ in this sector, whatever in the fuck that is supposed to mean, about my plans to expose the DPJ for the malignant, incompetent imbeciles they are. I can still use their fucking initials, though. I was then threatened with criminal charges if I reveal the name of any of the DPJ officers involved – despite the fact that these mugs all have LinkedIn accounts listing who they are, what they do for a living, and even include photographs.

I was warned, rather menacingly that I can’t use my kid’s real names, despite the fact that since the first edition of They Came in Peace was published back in 2021, their names have been public knowledge. Nevertheless, I will be referring to them as Obi-Wan, Leia and Luke – three of my favorite Force-Powered Star Wars characters.

I can only assume that H.S. is afraid that if I name names, the caseworkers will be exposed; despite the fact the DYP has qualified immunity and can act with impunity – UP TO AND INCLUDING LYING TO A JUDGE IN A SWORN AFFIDAVIT AND IN OPEN COURT – Something I nailed H.S. with, because they cherry picked my psych report – AND I GOT TO READ IT. They left out all the good stuff about me, and only mentioned the bad; they lied about me not completing therapy, and they lied about me not seeking further treatment.

Imagine a government agency that lies in open court to win their case; Family Cops. And as we know, ALL cops are bastards.

While they expect me to be respectful in my exchanges going forward (I’ll let you read some of the best ones – names redacted to initials of course – as this blog progresses. I have to say, when it comes to putting together a loquacious string of vulgarities in order to cut someone’s ego down to size, I am an artist.

I’ve also decided that since I have to play nice, I’m going to be as obsequious as a Jane Austen fictional suitor of difficult circumstance.

But here? I’m going to tell you exactly what I think of the fascist fucking soulless bitches.

In any event, in my next post I will detail the steps necessary for anyone else alienated from their children by the callous, cavalier DPJ to get full and unfettered access to their entire case file.

And once I have the case file, the shit is going to hit the fan.

I am fighting for my children, because I love them, I miss them, and this institutional monolith has too much authority and not nearly enough oversight. Every last one of the bitches should be put on a choke chain on a three-foot leash.

…ooohhh…fetishy.