My Refusal To Not Be Me

I married him not to change him, but because I loved him Never dreaming he was marrying me for another reason I wants to mold me into another person, a sixties housewife I did not marry a house; I married him. I kick and scream. He is shocked at my refusal to not be me. I run down the streets screaming my truth, hoping to escape. Wishing for approval, not notoriety, but at least acceptance. It is not to be. He has been here first, and he is persuasive. A Gemini, charming, a wolf in sheep’s clothing who has gained trust. He has me, I am his captive, but I go into it shrieking! He has chosen my clothes, and lays out my day – in order. He is totally not the man I thought I was getting; I am shocked. I begin to shut down, maybe because I have already been isolated. It is the first thing an abuser does. They isolate you through intimidation. I do not like to see his pouty face or raised hand. I go into this whimpering. I used to have a successful business, a computer, a cell phone. I have none of these things now – just petticoats and aprons, lacy lingerie. He is training me to be the woman he wanted, not woman I thought he loved. I am shrieking and screaming and wailing and keening but silently. Because I am terrified of the monster I have married.