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Emptiness Leads To Sleepless Nights

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By CHRISTIE GOLD

Special to the Tribune

Published: June 21, 2008

In soporific tones, the stranger suggests that I become aware of the weight of my right ear, the back of my head and the web between my toes. The notion seems ridiculous, but I'm desperate, so I comply with her wishes.

She instructs me to breathe deeply, to fill my belly with air before slowly exhaling. Then she urges me to listen to three things around me. But aside from the whir of the ceiling fan and the barely audible purr of a cat, the house is quiet.

It is almost always quiet.

I'm lying in bed in some indistinguishable time between the boundaries of late night and early morning. Work is only hours away, but sleep eludes me. The voice is courtesy of a meditation session from iTunes and is designed to help me sleep, something I've found difficult for the past two years, which is ironic for a girl whose father used to joke that she could doze off standing up in a canoe.

Five minutes into any family trip, I was slumped against my brother's arm, sawing logs in the back seat. I spent a good chunk of my childhood sleeping through concerts and movies or between courses at restaurants. My knack for catching some shut-eye nearly anytime, any place, extended well into my adult life.

That was before I lived alone.

Being by myself does not frighten me. I have dogs - and a shotgun - so thoughts of intruders lurking in the shadows beneath my windows do not trouble me. It's not the fear of someone; it's the absence of anyone.

Two years into my single status, the emptiness still haunts me. When I close my eyes, I instinctively pull my pillow close, but it is cool, not warm and smells of fabric softener rather than soap and aftershave.

Nothing fills the void.

On nights when the ghost of the past fails to visit, my rest is disrupted by dreams, not necessarily nightmares but surreal scenarios where my troubles are acted out in vivid detail on a subconscious theatrical stage. I awaken before the final act.

I've followed sleep experts' tips and tricks, but they are no panacea for my insomnia: I keep the house cool at night; my bed is an inviting nest of fluffy pillows and cozy quilts.

I've practiced yoga, soaked in hot baths, taken cool showers, listened to music, white noise and no noise, and sipped red wine, warm milk and chamomile tea.

I've tried holistic remedies, homeopathic cures and haggled with my HMO over expensive prescription drugs which do nothing more than produce hazy, early-morning side effects.

The National Sleep Foundation estimates that 70 million people in the United States experience sleep-associated problems.

Like me, my sleep-deprived kin are functional zombies. We perform remarkably well despite the inability to fully recharge our batteries each night.

I know enough about psychology to understand that my sleeplessness is the result of insecurities prowling about the deep recesses of my mind. In my waking hours, I play the role of a woman coping with the harsh hand dealt to her, but at night the façade falls away.

On this night, rather than cursing my inner demons, I enter peace negotiations with them guided by the hypnotic voice streaming through my iPod.

"Feel your eyelids grow heavy," she says.

"Relax."

"Let go."

I follow her directions and reach into the darkness.

Christie Gold, who lives in Wesley Chapel, teaches English and journalism at Freedom High School in Tampa.

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