Why I hate Basements!

As a child, there were 5 kids. Me and my two brothers. My oldest brother was mentally retarded and my youngest brother was 6 years younger. And there were two males cousins that lived with us. One was my age and the other was three years older. Whenever my parents went anywhere, we were locked in the basement until they got back. The basements were always finished with TV and books to read. Back in the late 60’s and early 70’s, not much played on TV as far as programming goes. Star Trek would stay on for 2 hours. That’s how I became and original Trekie. Anyway, when we were locked in the basement, I would always get molested by my oldest cousin. I wouldn’t tell because I was so kind hearted that I didn’t want to see anyone get hurt. I thought my oldest cousin was hurt enough because he was always getting beatings for doing things he had no business. So I didn’t want to add to that. Plus, their mom was mentally schizophrenic and was in a home. I didn’t want to see no more beatings.  So the molestings started in the basement in DC where we lived and continued in the basement in Maryland, when we moved there in 1970. At 10 years old and in MD, there was a walk out and there were times I would leave because I hated being home. I would break school windows and start brush fires and then watch the fire department respond. Anything was better than being home and being molested, yet, again.  We had German Shepherd dogs but they couldn’t stop what was happening to me. I didn’t tell anyone about it until I was grown. My youngest cousin corroborated my stories on his death bed as he laid dying from the Aids virus. But he was also forced to give his brother a blow job which in turn made him gay and set his ultimate destiny in motion. Even when my father was home and asleep, he would lock us in the basement.  And just ignore what was happening. One time he locked us in the basement and went out and we were in DC and the walkout section was also locked off from us. I had to go to the bathroom and there was no bathroom in the basement. I had to go really bad and it seemed like my parents were gone for hours. Finally, I had to go ahead and urinate on myself. When they finally came home, I cried because I had to go on myself and that was not a good feeling.

written by Joan Nyobe

written by Joan Nyobe

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About jfarley53

Being 56 is wonderful. I have so many new and jumbled insights on life.
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