Now I'll be a good girl

Now began my campaign to be the most amazing wife and mother that the earth ever saw. I would be submitted. I would be so submitted that even my husband would be nice to me. I would be the best mother ever. My kids would "rise up and call me blessed" like the woman described in the bible as the perfect woman and wife. I could do it. Thus started my quest for perfection. Oh wait. Hadn't I already tried to be perfect the first five years? Oh, I guess I wasn't perfect enough, I would have to try again. I looked to my husband as my guide; was I being submitted enough? Was I being good enough? Was I a good fuck? Was I creative enough in bed? Did I walk the right way, wear the right lewd clothes, the right sexy things, bend over and get fingered in both holes the right way while he jacked off? I knew I could do it if I just tried enough. I also knew that I was desperately miserable. I wanted to be loved. I wanted to be cared for. But I couldn't think about that. So I disciplined my thought life. I stopped reading books that talked about women being loved, even biographies or autobiographies. I stopped watching all movies. I stopped even trying to talk to anyone about what I was living at home. I read only books about homeschooling and being a good christian wife. I preached to everyone about how bad movies were and how we needed to "purify" our minds of all the filth in "worldly" books, movies and music. In reality I was hiding my desperation, my incredibly deep disappointment with life. I was miserable. I threw myself into living. But every time I did something that helped me live, my ex attacked me incessantly. He wanted control over everything, my thoughts, my actions, who I saw, what I did, and how I talked.

I chose to do things around the house that needed doing in spite of his anger. He would be even more angry and throw fits, scream at me for days on end then pout for weeks on end. I wasn't allowed to silicone the entry where water was seeping into the house. I wasn't allowed to change the screen door. I wasn't allowed to mow the lawn. I was attacking his manhood and telling him what to do when I did those things. Well fuck. He just wouldn't do these things. The house was rotting out from under us. Someone had to take care of these things. Then he would finally do stuff and then put it under my nose for YEARS afterward as a lack of submission on my part. When I asked him what we should have done, he would just scream and tell me to shut up.