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Hello everyone:

My mom was taken to the hospital last night. She was taken away by

the police after an argument with my father.

She is in the mental hospital, and I'm just overwhelmed by it all.

My father and brother (who's mental illness is controlled by heavy

medication) have not gone to see her in the hospital, but I did last

night.

She's OK, I guess, but it breaks my heart to see her that way--so

tiny, so vulnerable. I just took her in my arms, trying to love her

as much as I could as if the love in my heart were enough to take

away all her pain. I let her sit back for a while, watching her doze

off as I rubbed her feet.

My father can be so emotionally abusive to her. He told me yesterday

that sometimes he gets so mad at her. He told me that he said to

her, " If you [referring to my mom] die before me, I'll just shove

your ashes in with your mother [my grandmother], and you can spend

eternity with her. "

I can't believe my father would say something so cruel to my mother.

I would be incapable of saying something like that to someone I love,

but that's just me. I'm much too sensitive. It would hurt me too

much to hurt someone like that.

My mother's mother was very abusive and caused my mother to have a

very traumatic childhood. But my father isn't all bad. His

childhood was no picnic either. I wish things were different, but I

can't force my parents to treat each other with loving kindness.

Nothing is black and white. Both my mother and father play a role in

their relationship. They both can be verbally abusive of each

other. That is why I keep a distance from them. I have to protect

my sanity. The memories I have as a child, holding my mother's hand

in a mental hospital (while my father and brother had gone home)

haunt me to this day.

The seering pain coupled with utter powerlessness to help my mother

was hard to bear as an eight-year old. Holding my mother's hand as

she wandering aimlessly in that mental hospital, looking for someone

to help her, to ease all the wounds inflicted by her alcolic, abusive

mother left me forever changed.

My mother is an incredibly loving person despite her traumatic past.

I have seen such beauty in the world through her eyes. She taught me

love of art, music and dance. She sees the good in people and can

make friends so easily. She has always been such a loving mother to

me. She was the first person who I told I was gay, and she offered

me unconditional love, as she always had.

I started to cry when my father told me that he said that to my

mother. I think my reaction surprised him. But out of respect for

him, I didn't tell him how I felt. There was a sort of unspoken,

heart-wrenching sorrow I felt, as my father--once to big and strong--

looked to old, small and pitiful as he ate his lunch. I know he is

sorry that he said that to my mother. That's why he was telling me

about it.

I'm rambling. Thank God Steve is back in San Francisco. We're

spending the rest of the day together. His son will be in the

hospital for 6 months recovering from another bout with Crohn's

disease.

I'm looking forward to the respite of his arms. We talked last night

on the phone, and he was so sympathetic and comforting. He

said, " I'm here for you. Tell me as much as you need to so you can

get it out. " I'm happy that I can be of some comfort to him too.

It's amazing how resorative a simple hug can be. A touch can ease

such deep pain.

While I may have my challenges, like we all do, thank God for support

of people like Steve, and like all of you.

I can no longer depend on my old anesthesia of food to deaden the

pain. But crying is OK. And hugs, whether in person or via email,

satisfy at a deeper and more meaningful level.

Hugs to you all. Welcome to the other side you wonderful newbies.

And strength to all of you who still struggle with the 10% (or

more). We're all here for each other.

We are so blessed to have this virtual space where we can let out the

old demons and move on with life, no longer using food as a crutch.

Francisco

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Guest guest

Hello everyone:

My mom was taken to the hospital last night. She was taken away by

the police after an argument with my father.

She is in the mental hospital, and I'm just overwhelmed by it all.

My father and brother (who's mental illness is controlled by heavy

medication) have not gone to see her in the hospital, but I did last

night.

She's OK, I guess, but it breaks my heart to see her that way--so

tiny, so vulnerable. I just took her in my arms, trying to love her

as much as I could as if the love in my heart were enough to take

away all her pain. I let her sit back for a while, watching her doze

off as I rubbed her feet.

My father can be so emotionally abusive to her. He told me yesterday

that sometimes he gets so mad at her. He told me that he said to

her, " If you [referring to my mom] die before me, I'll just shove

your ashes in with your mother [my grandmother], and you can spend

eternity with her. "

I can't believe my father would say something so cruel to my mother.

I would be incapable of saying something like that to someone I love,

but that's just me. I'm much too sensitive. It would hurt me too

much to hurt someone like that.

My mother's mother was very abusive and caused my mother to have a

very traumatic childhood. But my father isn't all bad. His

childhood was no picnic either. I wish things were different, but I

can't force my parents to treat each other with loving kindness.

Nothing is black and white. Both my mother and father play a role in

their relationship. They both can be verbally abusive of each

other. That is why I keep a distance from them. I have to protect

my sanity. The memories I have as a child, holding my mother's hand

in a mental hospital (while my father and brother had gone home)

haunt me to this day.

The seering pain coupled with utter powerlessness to help my mother

was hard to bear as an eight-year old. Holding my mother's hand as

she wandering aimlessly in that mental hospital, looking for someone

to help her, to ease all the wounds inflicted by her alcolic, abusive

mother left me forever changed.

My mother is an incredibly loving person despite her traumatic past.

I have seen such beauty in the world through her eyes. She taught me

love of art, music and dance. She sees the good in people and can

make friends so easily. She has always been such a loving mother to

me. She was the first person who I told I was gay, and she offered

me unconditional love, as she always had.

I started to cry when my father told me that he said that to my

mother. I think my reaction surprised him. But out of respect for

him, I didn't tell him how I felt. There was a sort of unspoken,

heart-wrenching sorrow I felt, as my father--once to big and strong--

looked to old, small and pitiful as he ate his lunch. I know he is

sorry that he said that to my mother. That's why he was telling me

about it.

I'm rambling. Thank God Steve is back in San Francisco. We're

spending the rest of the day together. His son will be in the

hospital for 6 months recovering from another bout with Crohn's

disease.

I'm looking forward to the respite of his arms. We talked last night

on the phone, and he was so sympathetic and comforting. He

said, " I'm here for you. Tell me as much as you need to so you can

get it out. " I'm happy that I can be of some comfort to him too.

It's amazing how resorative a simple hug can be. A touch can ease

such deep pain.

While I may have my challenges, like we all do, thank God for support

of people like Steve, and like all of you.

I can no longer depend on my old anesthesia of food to deaden the

pain. But crying is OK. And hugs, whether in person or via email,

satisfy at a deeper and more meaningful level.

Hugs to you all. Welcome to the other side you wonderful newbies.

And strength to all of you who still struggle with the 10% (or

more). We're all here for each other.

We are so blessed to have this virtual space where we can let out the

old demons and move on with life, no longer using food as a crutch.

Francisco

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