Intentional harm

All that glitters could also just be condensation in a water bottle.

After I broke things off permanently with Mr. Mulah, I asked him to return my apartment key.

Mr Mulah was painfully aware of my childhood trauma. He was also aware these were “new” memories that had been blocked. Blocked from when I was a small child by my own brain as a survival instinct. I’m still trying to process these memories and it is excruciating.

He knew - in particular, that I don’t use my middle name for a reason. Who doesn’t hate being called by their first, middle and last name with an authoritative voice? I can’t imagine.

For me it is not just a sore spot, but a gushing wound.

This was how he addressed the envelope to return my key.

Not only did he use my middle name, but all CAPS to convey “shouting”.

Mr. Mulah’s driveway was significant and the angry march to his mailbox, at least a full ten minutes round trip.

He may have had a second thought about sending my key this way. He could have gone back. But he sent it just like this anyway.

He didn’t need repulsive words to accomplish his grossly abusive goal here. His handwriting is enough to make me feel a blow to my gut.

So, after Mr. Mulah’s ‘Rudi G wannabe” threatened me for the ring back, I returned his ring in the same envelope. With several thersitical words of my own.

I did have the option of keeping the ring. Research proved the value to be less than half of the proclaimed value.

It wouldn’t have been enough to get back to my son. And I would have signed away any future contact along with any rights for further action.

Amusingly to Mr. Mulah, his attempts to regain my rental deposit proved a new way to make me homeless and stay that way. That tidal wave came months later and is detailed in the case I brought against my then landlord with the State of Colorado- Civil Rights division.

There are plenty of unreal, abusive details in that case that I lost without any representation and little me just fighting to stay alive.

Again, really Colorado?