Purged thoughts of a bulimic brain
As most of you have figured out by now, I have a very decadent thought life. I do. I am a mental bulimic. I do not struggle with the disease in the physical, and for that I am grateful. I understand what a horrible nightmare it is since I have a background working in mental health. I am not trying to make light of the disease at all, but it is the closest analogy I could find to describe what I am going through these days.
See the decadent part — the feasting, the binge thinking, and the delightful part is often what I write about. I write about the hard parts too, but I can really revel in the hope. I can really bask in the warmth of hope. Hope is my feasting table.
When I am feasting I sit down at the table of hope and I feast non-stop on all of the possibilities that word may mean to me in the future. Hope means that I can sleep tonight with the belief that my son will make it home some day soon for leave, and ultimately back home for good one day. Hope is what puts the smile on my face when I think that Mr. Hooah! may actually make it home for Thanksgiving. Hope is what I chew on when I am dreaming of a holiday where my entire family is sitting around one table for a snapshot moment in time. Hope can fill me up, but it is very decadent. It can not alone sustain a soul. Hope has to be coupled with reality in order to have any substance, and it must be taken in smaller doses instead of indulged in all at once. My hopes usually have some balance to them, but sometimes the reality takes the sweetness out of the hope. It’s a hard balance to maintain.
See, in my thought life, the hope I am holding onto becomes overly hopeful. If I am not careful I forget about the reality of situations. I forget and with that I set myself up for a major sugar crash. I guess reality is the only way to purge some of the stuff that allows me to get to a fantasy world where the only outcome would have to be disappointment when the actual event occurs — or doesn’t in some cases.
Today my brain was consumed with the purging of some of the hope. Don’t worry. I am not throwing in the towel, and I am not dwelling on all of the negative possibilities. I just had to absorb some of the hard cold facts. I have no guarantees other than the fact that my son will travel home in the safest way possible. I have no promises except that when the military needs them, they go or they stay away. Holidays are not exempt. Reunions are not exempt. We may see Mr. Hooah! in the next little bit, and we may not. Regardless I simply can not allow for myself to get wrapped up in the decadent thought life of a charmed school girl.
Purging is the ugly part. I really hate it, but the truth is I have to be ready to hear whatever it is I may have to hear. If it winds up that my decadent thoughts are actually entertained in reality then I am in for quite a time! Family time galore! If it winds up that things happen to stop plans or that takes away some of joy then I will grieve and move on… I am sure though that I am not done with this cycle. Not yet. To be honest I think I will worry if and when I stop having my times of decadent thinking and bingeing on hope.
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