The ones who couldn’t see before

Through the smoke and mirrors

The gem, the magic,

the sheer brilliance of you

The ones who never knew

what was underneath

Begging to be seen

Standing tall and in the open

Filling up the spaces in every room

Absurdly beautiful and special and rare

Volume up and amplified

Living right there under their noses

Hungry for one drop of notice

Hidden in plain sight

The marvel of you, the treasure of you

The unexplainable perfection

of your presence

The ones who couldn’t see

That you are everything

The answer, the hope, the magic

That without even trying you just knew how to love unconditionally

Like some cosmic mystery

An unopened gift

The ones who never knew

all that you are

Were never meant to

Your light was not for them

Your beauty was not theirs to view

They crossed your path to share with you the ache of not being seen

So that you might learn to see yourself not through their eyes but through your own

We're all here dancing

Down this hall of smoke…

A scant few carry a full flush…

The rest of us are broke…

Some of us are dressed in flesh…

While others are long dead…

Every voice is here right now…

Don't matter what you read…

We're all here dancing

Down this hall of smoke…

At the Hakata Dontaku,

Or the Chelsea in New York…

Burning life's wax at both ends

Sacked out at Bronson Park…

On a nonstop bender now

We ache to play our parts...

We're all here dancing

Down this hall of smoke...

A sir with eyes as black as coal

Is reaching in his cloak...

A girl drops off as glasses clink...

A knife gleams in the dark...

The words we say,

The things we do

Are causing tiny sparks...

We're all here dancing

Down this hall of smoke…

A scant few carry a full flush…

The rest of us are broke…

Some of us are dressed in flesh…

While others are long dead…

Every voice is here right now…

Don't matter what you read…

9/27/24

Bunny Villaire

Edit #2

When you look in the mirror, what do you see? Do you take the time to really look at yourself? To spend a meaningful moment with yourself?

What do you see?

Is it beauty, success, greatness—a future best-selling novelist? Or do you see a monster: unhappy, fearful, a failure? Perhaps a procrastinator, a fraud, a “fatty” undeserving of love and praise, or something else. Maybe it’s a bit of everything.

Maybe you see nothing at all.

And when I say look, I mean peering through those dazed pupils deep into your soul, having an unspoken conversation with yourself. A head check. A state of the YOU-nion with your subconscious.

Be honest. What do you see?

---

I rarely look at myself, but when I do, I see a...

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Nearly 3300 years ago at the Palace of Nestor in Pylos, Dionysus met the world. Born to Zeus, the God of Sky and Thunder, and Semele, an extraordinary mortal woman, Dionysus came into the world as a happy and curious baby. No official records exist which talk about his birth weight, but we can surmise he was likely more than 10 pounds at birth: children of the Gods always excel at everything, even if unintentional.

Records of Greek mythology note that Zeus fathered more than 50 children in his lifetime. He was exceptionally proud of Dionysus, almost to the point of inattention to his other progeny. Dionysus is seen as twice-born because his mother, Semele, gave birth to him and while she was dying, Zeus saved him by sewing him to his thigh and keeping him there until he reached maturity. Zeus then ripped him from his thigh, thus making him twice-born.

Hera, both the sister and wife of Zeus, is noted for her resistance to the authority of Zeus, and for her jealousy and hatred of his many lovers, wives, and children. Her anger was such that she directed the titans to tear Dionysus apart, then cook and eat him. Zeus became furious at Hera for killing his child and punished her by hanging her off of the edge of Mount Olympus.

Archival records show that while Zeus saw many of his children as non-entities, he grieved greatly for Dionysus: his favorite daughter, Athena, notes that her father did not sleep for three years after the death of one of his favorite sons.

While Zeus is indeed immortal, humans are not and require sleep. According to WebMD (2021) after 24 hours of insomnia we see an inability to regulate emotions, a rise in cortisol levels, (the compound that allows for emotional regulation), an inability to manage core body temperature, and significantly delayed reaction time. While this may be news to many people, it’s old hat for people that suffer from insomnia, and moreso for people who cannot sleep due to grief, complicated PTSD secondary to a significant loss, and people who have some sort of mental health diagnosis such as comorbid addiction and grief, etc.

Elizabeth Kubler Ross, the grandmother of grief therapy and the stages of grief, outlined the process of healing using the DABDA model: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Kubler Ross’ was quick to note that people do not always navigate the SOG (stages of grief) in a straight line as we are not machines and other issues can interfere with healing, and often do. Dealing with insomnia secondary to a significant loss of some sort makes the world untenable for most people.

Three clinicians from the American Psychological Association (Lancel, M., Stroebe, M., & Eisma, M.C, 2020) identify various characteristics relative to sleep disturbances and bereavement. While the authors are quick to note that “grief induced insomnia” has not received the kind of attention as other forms of grief therapy, they identify “an article in PubMed which gave rise to a systemic review of insomnia secondary to significant losses”. This group also identified 85 articles encasing nearly 13,000 individuals. The writer’s note they answered seven pre-defined research questions demonstrating a high prevalence of sleep disturbances in bereavement. Further, positive associations of intensified grief with significant sleep difficulties were shown to have a higher comorbidity, IE: depression, and initial evidence of casual and causal relationships between complicated grief and sleep. However, while therapy to resolve issues of grief partly improves sleep, current research does not indicate specifically targeted sleep problems in bereaved persons.

While grief generally consumes a person’s attention, efforts should be made to decrease the severity of the malady. Initial energies can include various testing mechanisms. These instruments can illuminate places that are hard-to-treat. I’m including five scales that are well-received and peer-reviewed:

· Brief Symptom Inventory

· Anticipatory Grief Scale

· The Coping Assessment for Bereavement and Loss Experiences

· The Traumatic Grief Inventory-Self Report plus (TGI-SR+)

· The Inventory of Complicated Grief

Insomnia in grief is not dissimilar to other forms of complicated grief, but for the purpose of this article, I’d like to outline some criteria that speaks to CG (complicated grief). People afflicted with CG may exhibit the following symptoms: swelling in their heart and lungs, heaviness in the chest or tightness in the throat. Additionally, when people evidence CG, as noted by Prigerson, (1995), anger, hallucinations, and disbelief are evident. Also, as noted by Prigerson, people impacted by insomnia related to grief have reported “staying up for days on end” or simply getting “significantly disturbed sleep. The Inventory of Complicated Grief consists of 19 first-person statements concerning the immediate bereavement-related thoughts and behaviors of the client. There are 5 response options, ranging from “Never” to “Always.” The US Department of Veteran Affairs also notes that complicated grief requires a more acute level of intervention, IE: additional therapy, screening for issues found in standard blood draws, support groups specific to grief and insomnia, and perhaps identifying a CBT therapist that specializes in insomnia, CBTI. While depression was a significant feature in grief-related-insomnia, researchers saw a higher-than-average admission of suicidal ideation.

Doing a cursory review of this article you could leave with the impression that this is merely “all bad news”, however, I’d like to assure you this is not the case. While the field of loss-related-insomnia is relatively new, I identified supports that I would invite you to explore.

I think it’s also important to remember than your feelings of grief when you lose a guinea pig are no less important than someone who loses a loved one: we have to be cognizant that you cannot compare pain.

I’d like to outline some suggestions you can explore should you, a friend, or loved one suffer from Grief Related Insomnia:

· Find a CBT therapist that specializes in insomnia: CBTI is the designation for this specialty. Call your insurance company or explore the Therapist Finder on Psychology Today. You can also find various CBT groups online and those groups can offer recommendations.

· Talk to your medical provider about medications for depression and loss

· If you are consuming an excessive amount of alcohol, find a way to taper down your consumption. Addiction makes your world feel small, and excessive drinking creates an inability to tolerate or process emotions. Heavy drinking, without question, interferes with sleep

· Take a gander at Prolonged Grief Disorder Therapy

· Be kind to yourself. Offer yourself gentle reminders that this, too, shall pass

· Other things that have worked: purging your bedroom, adding a light for Seasonal Affective Disorder

· Keep a regular sleep schedule, attend to sleep hygiene

· Expose yourself to morning light

· Exercise on a regular basis

If we return to our roots at the outset of this article, we can give a nod to Oizys, the goddess of misery, anxiety, grief and depression. She approached Zeus, and much like the female lead in Dances with Wolves, she told him that his time for grieving was over. This was a huge gamble — Zeus is immortal, commanded millions of deities, tons of heroes, mortals, and gods. He could have struck her down without any thought, however, according to Greek literature, he thanked her, promoted her, and gave her protection as a goddess whose life was now immortal.

However you choose to deal with your distress, good luck and best wishes on your path.

There is no home to head for

Or unearth in the stitchless unraveling

Dropping down garment skies

When cul de sac coffins

Betray grounded relics

And bury fevered labours,

Prostituting history

And violating

The snatched eagle’s

Egg baskets,

Bouldering proud

And laid out on tribal lands.

Such absconded blood letting

Has swollen to hideous volumes of perfidious rain

Digging up the restless bones

And baking tears to mummified clay.

Dancing on the head of a pin

Was once the proud display

Ripe with flaming colours,

Until microburst wings

Were blown through

The keyhole’s stinging wind,

And great tales were quieted to death.

It´s been weeks since we´d started working on deco, somehow all of it looks really pretty. Our poster and the stars got complimented by seniors as well. Everytime the credit was always given to me. It´s one of the first times I've ever got acknowledged and appreciated, it made me feel so happy. Today was the scary but exciting day of homecoming, sadly since I signed up for a set-up shift I have to get up at 8.

I grumble to myself as I walk into the leadership room, for the 6th time in a week. My eyes widen when I see that almost all of my class is here and I ran to sit next to my friend Lahna. She smiles and hugs me giggling about how excited she is for HO-CO.

¨I-i am too..¨, I say slightly high-pitched as I glance subtly at Tyler. He seemed to be watching our seniors as they were decorating the gym. I hoisted myself up and started stringing the lights around the gym. Excitedly hoping that maybe just maybe Tyler would come to HO-CO and maybe we could talk?

At HO-CO I sadly walk over to the droopy ticket counter out in the cold. My dress was a bit short but REALLY REALLY poofy. It looked like I was in 5th grade at one of those kiddy birthday parties. I boredly kick my feet in the air and just watch as all the passerby enter and leave as the night grows on.

I took a trip –

a long-awaited journey trespassing in my individual mind.

Tapping into an awareness I hadn’t intended to find.

Bare vulnerability

so strangely comfortable

frolicking with fears and risks.

I am a daydreamer,

a traveler -

curiosity consumes me well beyond the borderline of insanity.

Passions ignited.

An intensity that breaks my grip.

Obsessive. Compulsive.

The poison in my genes doesn’t hinder the adventurous side of me.

Illusions. Delusions.

Perhaps even vivid illustrations.

Sigh. This is my reality –

so, stop asking me ridiculous questions. Stop coming to your own conclusions.

Listen.

Like a puzzle,

every possibility, or mystery, or conspiracy that’s ever been near to my ear,

starts to reveal patterns. Enticing me with bright, neon answers -

as if each were the only constellation to shine within a dark, deserted, galaxy highway.

But, my listening friend,

I will run far and wide,

and dig the deepest of holes to hide in,

if only to keep safe the freewill of my inquisitive and open nature.

I will always chase the perfume of imagination’s tail

as if it were the long-lost lover

who escaped my romantic daydreams.

I haven’t the simplicity,

nor ignorance,

to dull that side of me.

i was pushing me cart

i was looking for schlitz

when a stench like mum's soup

came and scattered me wits—

i looked left and sniffed

then turned right and whiffed

mercy me

'twas both of me pits!

Somewhere out there - there are a million alternate universes.

One where my innocence lived on, and I had never gotten hurt.

Where I never became that drunk girl lying face down in the dirt.

One where I drew those lines, and never dared to cross.

Where I never chose that dark path that would surely get me lost.

One where I was still safe, and I never betrayed myself.

Where I never put that needle in or had to ask for help.

One where I still met him, our lives still sweetly overlapped.

Where he never took his own life, forcing me to adapt.

One where I didn't have to struggle, where I was able to be free.

Where I never had to fall so far from who I was meant to be.

One where he had never slipped, causing me to fold.

Where he didn't do it one last time, turning blue and cold.

One where he is here with us, laughing and watching her grow.

Where I am not sitting here, trying to cling to the unknown.

Margaret Elizabeth McCabe, beloved wife of wealthy industrialist C. Hiram McCabe, was buried in her finest dress. The ruby earrings, emerald broach and pearl necklace complimented the diamond ring on her left hand. This rumor circulated among Baltimore’s undesirables in 1876 when Silas Odgen heard it.

Silas procured bodies for medical research a local hospitals. The pay was sporadic, the work backbreaking. Visiting Margaret would reap financial spoils without any heavy lifting.

The full moon that night meant Silas must work quickly. This coffin felt lighter than the others. Minimal effort was needed to release it from the earthen grip. When opened, Silas was shocked to see Margaret was absent, replaced with tattered fabric, mostly on the lid’s silken lining. There appears to have been a struggle, a prolonged violent struggle.

As Silas was bent over, a dark force knocked him into the coffin. The top slammed shut. Muffled cries were heard while it was lowered back into the freshly dug grave.

C. Hiram McCabe never married. His wealth was not from astute business practices. His fortune was gained from making a deal with the devil. Silas was just one more soul C. needed to pay down his evil debt.