Denied Mental Healthcare by Mr. Mulah

I was promised many things by Mr. Mulah when he was feeding me lies so I’d agree to let him “save me” when I was at what I considered my lowest point - recovering from my alcoholism, and serious abuse. He said “the BEST” doctors and mental health provider. What I got was a lesson to OBEY him. Once I was in his lair he told me he didn’t believe in PTSD. Even though he lost his beloved brother sadly from its effects as a veteran. I was told to take my problems in the back yard and bury them. That was how I was to “get over” my demons. At that time I didn’t realize HE was the biggest demon I’d encounter and I’d likely die from his abuse. My mere presence annoyed him enough to throw me out about THREE months after he ripped me from my life with no hope of returning. I had no resource, little money (he made sure of that) and I knew nobody in the area. Mr. Mulah would not allow any emotions unless they were happy and full of praise of him.

When I resided with him for those few months I quickly learned he wanted a She-Slave. Not only that, but I was a ”guest” and should behave as such. I wasn’t “allowed” any personal space. I was given one small closet for my things and I had to stay tidy no matter what. That explains why he convinced me in my haze to leave my Craig apartment with all of my stuff there. He thought my stuff was tacky and had no intention of having my “crap” in his house.

I’d never do that in my right mind. Leave my entire apartment and all of my personal belongings as-is and just walk out. NEVER.

Mr. Mulah allowed 2 drawers in the bathroom and about 3 items on the counter. His one and only bathroom was large and freezing-cold-always. I tried putting down a nice little throw rug on the cold slate floor. He threw a fit about how nice his floor is and ‘why cover it with a rug?’.

I then learned I was to use my rug only when I needed it and to fold it and keep it under the sink. There was a space heater in there. I was afraid to use it because he’d blow a gasket if I forgot to turn it back off. That happened once.

I wasn’t allowed to listen to my music because he hated it. I tried headphones and he freaked because it was “disrespectful” in case he needed to talk at me and I didn’t hear him right away.

I wasn’t allowed friends.

I couldn’t have a private phone call.

I was expected to cook, but could not re-organize anything in the kitchen without a fit. His kitchen was really a kitchenette with unsealed expensive butcher block for a counter. He tried blaming me for a small stain on that stupid counter until I reminded him HE did it and I was right there when he did.

During this time I was crying all the time and literally BEGGING for a shrink.

No.

It wasn’t in “the budget” and he didn’t believe in it. He wasn’t going to spend a penny for me to lay on someone’s couch and whine about things that should easily be buried in the backyard. Funny, that wasn’t what he told me before I was his captive.

Maybe it’s me, but that stereotype of a psychological visit is nothing like what therapy is.

After a while of begging to have someone to talk to, my answer was just, no. Then he made it his final decision.

What I was to do was to entertain him.

Ultimately, he threw me out because I wasted money (under $3) on two saucer plates from Goodwill.

When I did finally get mental health help it was through the State. I ended up with a counselor that started giving me $20 bills in incognito ways which I talk about on my “Mother” page.