You’re Not Who I Thought You Were

You’re not who I thought you were.

At first, you were charming—in a sci-fi nerd sort of way.
You listened to my stories.
Laughed at my jokes, even the ones that weren’t that funny.

You wanted me to meet all your friends.
You sent flowers. Made playlists just for me.
You let me pick the restaurant when we went out.

But sometimes you’d get mad at my choice.
Raise your voice. Tell me to choose somewhere else.
And I would—because it wasn’t that big of a deal. Not really.
But even after you got your way, you were still mad.
Which I didn’t understand.

So I got quieter—tried not to add fuel to the invisible fire inside you.
And then you’d get mad at me for being quiet.
You’d say I wasn’t good company.
That I dressed “frumpy” for dinner.
That I was boring. Uptight.

So I tried to relax. Be lighter. More carefree.
But that wasn’t right either.
Then I was flighty. Distracted. Embarrassing.

You’d wait until we were in the car to yell at me.
You’d call me stupid. Incapable.
Sometimes you’d hit me. Or squeeze my arm. Or shove me.

You’re not who I thought you were.
But I wanted you to be.
So I softened my edges. Laughed a little less.
Chose safer restaurants. Wore clothes you liked.
And when none of that worked, I tried being invisible.

I thought I could do it.
Thought I could be who you wanted me to be.
That if I just behaved, followed the rules, kept you happy—we’d be okay.

But I guess I’m not who you thought I was.
Because I never found the right way to exist in your life.
At least not one that kept me safe.

Even when I thought I had it figured out, I didn’t.
Inevitably, I’d mess up.
You’d react. Hurt me. Then blame me for it.

It was like there was an invisible line I kept crossing.
And just when I thought I knew where it was,
You’d move it—
So I’d have to start all over again.

I kept expecting you to change.
To treat me better.
To love me.
To do the work so we could be happy.

But you’re not who I thought you were.

You never changed. Not for the better.
You got angrier. More unpredictable. More demanding.
Because you knew I wouldn’t leave. That I couldn’t.
You made sure of it.

You gave me an allowance like I was a child.
You followed me when I went out.
You power-called until I came home.
You kept me isolated. Disconnected.
Financially dependent.
You used fear to keep me in check.
And weaponized silence to keep me guessing.

You gaslit me into believing it was my fault.
You watched my self-worth erode and said nothing.
Every criticism. Every perceived failure.
Proof you were right.

I believed you when you said I deserved it.
I didn’t tell anyone about the bruises. The fighting. The terror.
Shame is a powerful muzzle.
I wore it well.
I kept your secrets.

I wasn’t who you thought I was.
But I tried to be.
Which is more than I can say for you.

You kept showing me the real you—
Over and over.
And finally, I believed you.

I believed you weren’t going to change.
Weren’t going to be kinder.
Weren’t going to love me.

So I left.

I became free of you.
I became safe without you.
I became more confident without your voice in my head.
I became more hopeful when my future didn’t include you.
I became my own safety net when I got out.

You weren’t who I thought you were.
So I became who I always wanted to be—
without you.