The Bad Man

short story about my struggles against "The Bad Man"

I tried my whole life to get away from the bad man. My father, my stepfather, my grandfather, abusive boyfriends, and lustful stares. He reigns my life as he always has.

My father was a bad man. He beat me, abused me, touched me, scared me. Look in my face and call me “worthless” and “useless”. Now those words ring through my mind for eternity.

My stepfather was a bad man. He yelled, screamed, abused us, made us feel as though we could never do anything worth being proud of.

And that's all I ever wanted.

Someone to be proud of me.

To say I’m worth something.

To say I’m smart.

To say I’m beautiful.

To say I deserve better.

To say it’s okay.

My grandfather was a bad man. He abused little girls, my grandmother, my father, and me. He screamed about us being worthless too. I guess it runs in the family blood.

My ex-boyfriend was a bad man. He raped, abused, and screamed. He forced me to do things I never wanted to do and would convince me that I wanted it. But I knew I didn’t.

Those men with the lustful stares are bad men. They look at me like a fresh steak, ready to be taken advantage of.

The only man I have ever met that is not a bad man is him. He loves me. He tells me I’m worth it, I’m beautiful, I’m strong, and that I am not worthless.

Over time, the bad man has become more and more relevant in my life.

I hear voices, but one in particular hurts me the most.

The bad man.

He screams all the things the other men did, but I cannot shut him up.

He lives inside and I can’t beat him.

But I’m going to try.

I beat the others.

I can defeat him.