I identify as married to a man who won't have me, and it's so unfair

Sometimes the bigotry I face makes it hard to get out of bed in the morning. From the moment I open my eyes, I know it will be another day of fighting to be who I really am. I have woken up some mornings to Mr. X trying to physically remove me from his bed, calling me a trespasser, a pervert, or worse.

Bathrooms cause me even more angst. Mr. X has repeatedly tried to harass me into using the bathroom in my own apartment instead of in his house. To him there is only the binary of “single” and “married,” rigidly distinguished by the words of a marriage rite. To me there is the need to be acknowledged for who I really am, regardless of social norms or mutual agreements. What he can never experience is how every time I shower by myself in my own bathroom, I feel like a fraud, acting out the script society has written for me.

Those daily battles gnaw away at my soul, causing me to question my own value as a person. In my heart, I know that I was always meant to be married, but the world is constantly trying to push me back in the “single” box. It tells me there are limits to what I can be, and that since my life touches those of other people, my own self-perception cannot be the basis of my identity. The message is: If your identity is grounded in internal perception, you make yourself a dictator over the rest of humanity.