Retreat to Sleep

I used to be able to sleep. I used to look forward to bed time, a time for relaxation and rest and recovery from the stress of the day. I would fall into bed and drift off, leaving the day behind.

Now, I'm almost afraid to go to bed. No matter how exhausted I am, when I get into bed I just can't shut down. My thoughts race, I worry about the day past and the day to come, and neither breathing exercises nor attempts at meditation have aided me.

I don't want to use drugs. I think it's unhealthy to have a dependence on a taken substance in order to sleep. Besides, whenever I cave in and take an anti-histamine or melatonin the sleep that I get isn't restful. I just blank out and wake up groggy. As opposed to the rest of the time when I get fitful spurts of rest that barely enable me to make it through the day.

I want, I need, something that will help me reset my sleep cycle and get back into being able to sleep. I can't afford a new bed. I can't afford anything expensive. The decision to step into the herbalist shop that I used to sneer at is one of pure desperation.

A tinkling bell heralded my entrance into the ill-lit shop. Most of the light came from the sun streaming through dingy front windows. It smelled musty and stale, a faint hint of marijuana and tobacco immediately finding my nostrils. I almost walked right back out again, rather than explore this dump, but it was too late. I had been spotted by a clerk appearing from the back. I was now firmly trapped by politeness.

She had fair hair, wrapped up into a multitude of braids, which was in turn swept up into a pile atop her head. Shorter than me though I'd say at least 5'2" tall. She wore what I thought of as hippie clothing, all natural looking fibers and dull colors, flat sandals on her feet. Her face was adorable though, elfin and sprightly were the words that popped into my head at the mischievous glint in her hazel eyes. A smile that I couldn't help but return drew my eyes to her very red lips. Despite my prejudice, I felt myself wondering what she looked like out of all that baggy clothing. Would she be curvy or athletic? I thought she had a good sized bust, but it was hard to tell. I had no idea why I wished she were showing some cleavage so that I could see more of her creamy skin.

When I realized she had been talking to me, I started and shook myself.

"I'm sorry, I haven't been sleeping well lately and I tend to zone out a bit. That's actually why I came in. I don't want something that will just put me to sleep, I'm looking for something to help me regain a natural sleep cycle. Do you have anything like that?" My voice raised into a pleaful yet skeptical tone at the question. I didn't think they would, or if they did, that I'd be able to afford it.

Still smiling, she replied, "I might have just the thing. First, I want to ask you a few questions to determine if we can help you. First of all, my name is Penelope. What's your name?"

Her presence was relaxing to me, and even the smell of the store wasn't getting on my nerves anymore.

"My name is Helen. Helen Browder."

"Nice to meet you Helen. Come with me, we'll go sit down and talk about what we can do for your issue."

She led me to the back of the store where there were two threadbare couches upholstered in a ghostly red shade. I almost didn't sit, fearing the couch would be home to rats or mice or spiders even, if not cockroaches, but I was, unsurprisingly, quite tired and they did look soft.

It helped that Penelope sat gracefully down on one and nothing came skittering out.

I sat on the other couch and faced her. She leaned towards me and I found myself inexplicably wishing that she were wearing a shirt with a lower neckline.

"I think it is wonderful, first of all, that you don't want to become dependent on drugs to help you sleep. Sleep is a natural part of our lives and we should all be able to do it, without any extra chemical aids beyond what our own bodies produce. Besides, adding extra chemicals into our bodies never really lets us have the right kind of sleep, does it?"

"No, it doesn't," I agreed and stifled a yawn. The couch was quite soft and comfortable and, at this moment, felt a whole lot better than my bed had in months.

"How much sleep are you getting each night, on average, without any added chemicals? I use the word chemicals rather than drugs, because most people don't realize that alcohol, for example is a drug. Anything that we ingest into our bodies can be considered a drug. What we ingest, whether it be chocolate or morphine, has a real chemical effect on our bodies. So, what I'm asking is how your sleep is on nights that you neither drink alcohol, nor take anything specifically to aid your sleep."

Following her words was difficult. Partly it was that she spoke quickly and her voice was low pitched. She also jumped from subject to subject, explaining one clause before she finished the whole thought. Yet another aspect was my ever present tiredness that seemed to be getting worse each passing minute. I took a moment to think about what she had asked.

Then I woke up. I knew from painfully gotten experience that I hadn't been out for long, but it was still embarrassing.

"I'm sorry about that," I said. "Um, I think I've been getting like four hours per night, but it is all in little spurts like that where I drop off and wake up. At least, I feel like I'm awake at least one minute for every minute I manage to sleep."

"No worries," Penelope replied, her face reflecting concern. "I think from that vivid demonstration I can recommend something for you.

"The owner of this shop holds sleep retreats on weekends when there are enough people interested to fill a class. Usually we have a long wait time as we gather enough participants, but I just had a last minute cancellation for the one he is holding this weekend. Since it is a cancellation, I can give you a great deal on the price, and truly Hun, I think you need this."

I asked what was most important to me first. "How much is this great deal going to cost?"

"$100, which is discounted from the normal price of $400. It includes meals from Friday dinner to Sunday lunch, lodging, activities and a money-back guarantee that your sleep will begin to improve immediately," she explained. I knew a sales pitch when I heard one, but the money-back guarantee did make it a relatively safe bet. Maybe.

"What does the workshop involve? Like, what would I be doing there?"

Her eyes crinkled as she grinned.

"Well, I can't tell you everything of course as it is a proprietary method, but you will be learning how to sleep. You'll be getting in touch with the side of yourself that knows how to fall asleep and rest and renew yourself. He guides you through finding the key to your sleep issue," she exhaled and looked a little embarrassed. "He did it for me. At one point in my life I was getting two hours of sleep a night at most. But Mr. Mendoza changed all that for me. He can do it for you, too, Helen," she reached over and touched my hand, holding eye contact.

She looked so sincere. I had a tinge of worry about the worshipful way she spoke of this Mr. Mendoza character, but I had confidence in myself as well. Sure, I had a problem, but I wasn't some naïve child to be recruited by some cult, if that's what it even was. She might just have a crush on him for all I knew.

$100. It was about the limit of what I could afford after trying so many things to get to sleep. Her hand was cool and dry on mine. It felt so good simply to be touched by someone. My love life had taken a dive with this sleep problem. But I was sure she didn't mean anything in that way, she was just one former sufferer comforting a current sufferer.

"Alright, I'll do it," I replied heavily. She squeezed my hand and bounced in place.

"You won't regret this, Helen, I promise you!" she squealed at me. "Follow me to the counter and I'll get your information. Our shuttle will pick you up from your work or home Friday evening, you don't even have to drive yourself! It is all part of the service, so not a word of protest," she grinned back at me as she led me by the hand to the front of the store.

I gave her my information and requested to be picked up from home. I got a list of what to bring and what to leave behind for the weekend. She told me that the payment should be in cash and that they could collect it when they picked me up in two days.

***

After two more fitful nights, I felt ready to try anything, no matter how silly or new age it might seem. I had my cash, and my bag, which included no "extraneous distractive devices, such as cell phones, music players or video game systems." The shuttle would be arriving any moment now.

Sitting on my couch in the front room, I kept nodding off, but never for long. A knock on the door got me to my feet and when I opened it, Penelope was there grinning at me.

"Surprise!" she yelled to my dumbfounded look. "I forgot to tell you that I'm Mr. Mendoza's assistant now at the workshop. Oops," she told me, sounding not at all sorry.

"Oh, that's cool," I replied lamely as she enveloped me in a big hug. Her breasts felt huge and firm against my stomach. Her height put her face almost directly into my cleavage and her face was cool against the sudden heat of my skin.

"Come on, the sooner we get there, the sooner you'll be learning how to sleep again," she said in a more serious tone. She grabbed my bag and led me away, cash still clutched in my hand. Bemused, I followed her to a nice looking though non-descript shuttle bus of the type I always saw on ride share ads.

I must have been the last one to be picked up, as all but two of the seats were filled with women who looked like I felt. I assumed the empty driver's seat was for Penelope, and took the empty front passenger seat beside her. Penelope took the cash I was still clutching from my hand and smilingly placed it into a deposit bag.

"Alright ladies, our next stop is the workshop location. Being out in nature is the only way to get back to your natural sleep rhythms, so the drive will be about two hours from here. For now, enjoy yourselves, talk, relax, sleep if you can, and I'll put on some soothing nature sounds for us all to enjoy," Penelope spoke with authority now, none of the sprightliness coming through in her official announcement. She touched a button on the dash and the, to me, highly irritating sounds of nature began to play.

I never liked listening to the nature sounds CDs, in part because they felt fake to me, and in part because the idea of trying to force relaxation on myself rubbed me the wrong way. This one was no different from any other I'd ever overhead and I wanted to talk to Penelope instead.

However, she looked utterly absorbed in her task of driving, which made me feel disinclined to disturb her. Instead I turned to look at the other insomniacs. They all looked... the same. Haunted eyes, make-up barely making a dent in the dark circles under their eyes. Different hair colors, skin tones and clothing, but it was as if they were all based on the same template of sleeplessness. I'm sure I looked no different, but I couldn't see myself to compare.

No one was talking, most were staring out the windows. I saw one woman jerk up in a familiar motion. I knew just what it felt like to do that fall-asleep-wake-up thing, and now I got to see how I looked to others. No wonder I got so many pitying looks.

I turned back to the front and looked out the windows as the nature sounds played on and the scenery rolled by. We were headed out into the forest and I hoped that the facilities wouldn't be too primitive. I hadn't even thought to ask about that. I was too desperate for a cure to care at the time, but now I was fiercely hoping for flush toilets.

I nodded off for a few minutes during the ride, but most of it was just spent looking at trees and listening to ocean waves. I had no idea where we were, other than in a forest on a road that hardly deserved the appellation. I now didn't want to disturb Penelope for fear that she would crash if she took her attention off the road.

The fear of going off the road and flipping over and dying kept me wide awake for the last half hour of the ride, so I got to see the workshop facility as we drove up. A cluster of cabins surrounding a barn-like structure, all made of wood, were in the middle of a cleared area. I could see a water pump, and I hoped it was merely decorative.

The cabins did at least look clean in the waning light, and the clearing wasn't overgrown though it was natural looking. Penelope pulled up close to the barn-like structure and stopped the van. The abrupt end of the nature sounds got everyone's attention.

Penelope turned and addressed the group. Sitting in the front passenger seat, I felt a bit left out of her attentions as she explained that she would be taking our bags to our assigned cabins and that we should proceed into the central meeting room where Mr. Mendoza would be waiting for us.

Doors popped open and we all trooped out through open wooden double doors to what appeared to be a single large room inside the "barn." I felt myself relax at the sight of carpets and cushions in cool soothing colors arranged in various sized groupings. There was a sideboard laden with food and several urns, probably coffee though I didn't smell any. There was a central light hanging down and brightly illuminating only the center of the room, which would explain why I didn't notice Mr. Mendoza in the back of the room until he stepped forward and greeted us.

"Welcome ladies. For the first part of our retreat, we will be in a large group. Please find your name card and have a seat here," he gestured to a semi-circle of cushions and trays directly under the light.

Looking at him, a cliché came to mind immediately. He was tall, dark and handsome. His voice had a light trace of an accent, but was clear and articulate. It was the kind of voice that a news anchor might have, authoritative, persuasive and trustworthy. For the first time, I really believed that this might have been a good idea.

There were eight of us insomniacs, and nine cushions set up. I felt distanced again when I discovered that I was seated at the far left on the other side of Penelope, according to the name cards. We sat, and Mr. Mendoza stood at the center of our semi-circle. Penelope slipped in beside me before he began to address us again.

"Now, I know that all of you are here because you refuse to become dependent on drugs for the natural process of sleep. I commend you all, and I believe as you do, that sleep should be natural. For some reason, each of you has forgotten how to find your sleep. Your minds are refusing to allow your bodies the sleep that they know how to get. To that end, we will be taking a 'drug' this evening, but not one that will force us to sleep. Instead we will be drinking this herbal tea that will put off our bodies need for sleep. We are staying up all night tonight."

His words were compelling, and I found myself agreeing. What better way to reset our sleep schedules than to really break them off and start fresh? Penelope brought over a teapot and poured everyone a cup.

"You can drink as much of this as you like, but you should drink at least one cup every two hours in order to stay completely awake," Penelope explained as Mr. Mendoza stood back and sipped at his own cup.

"Now, for introductions. My name is Hector Mendoza, and I must insist that you all call me Hector," he said as Penelope finished pouring. "I have a degree in naturopathic medicine with an emphasis in sleep studies. I have been holding these retreats for five years now, and I haven't had to issue a refund yet," he continued with a smile. "You all have different reasons for being here, and we will get into them tonight, but for now please just state your first names. Let's start over here," he pointed at the woman on the other end from me.

As the women to my right stated their names I found myself zoning out. I realized I needed to start drinking the tea, and managed to get the cup to my lips just as it was my turn to state my name. I gulped, sputtered, turned red in the face and spoke my name three times before it came out clearly.

Hector smiled at me anyway, and I felt a rush of a different kind of warmth. I firmly attributed it to the gulp of tea and paid attention to Hector's lecture. He was talking about different reasons that we learn how not to sleep and the various things in our modern culture that contribute to insomnia.

I listened to his words, but I was also preoccupied with how awake I felt. It had been a long time since I had felt anything but tired. Now, my mind was calm and alert; my body felt relaxed but also ready. Hector's words made sense to me, and I could see the other women nodding as well. We were all interested; we all agreed.

There were no clocks, and, per the instructions, I wasn't wearing my watch. I had no idea how much time was passing. At one point Hector invited us to go get some food, and to continue to do so as the we felt the need. I reveled in how delicious the strawberries tasted. They were perfectly ripe, sweet and juicy. Practically orgasmic.

Where had that thought come from?

Hector began to ask us questions. What did we think about when we tried to sleep? When had our insomnia started? He skipped randomly through the group, not letting anyone talk for longer than it took to answer his question. I found myself revealing that I hadn't had sex for months. No answer was lingered on, we simply spoke and then he asked another question.

I found myself feeling as if the words the other women spoke were my own. Their answers were so similar to what I myself would have said. I realized that we were all related in a way. We had a common culture and a common reaction to it.

"Julie, how have your masturbation habits changed since your insomnia?" Hector asked. I froze at the mention of masturbation. To me, it was one thing to talk about sex in a vague way, but to talk about sex with oneself was wrong. I never even liked to think about the fact that I had ever masturbated, even when I was doing it. I felt myself withdraw internally.

"Well, I used to masturbate regularly, but not a lot. Now, I find myself lying awake in bed and just touching myself. The weird thing is that it doesn't feel good anymore," Julie answered without a trace of self-consciousness. My discomfort increased at her matter-of-factness. Even though Hector turned on to other subjects, I still felt stiff and awkward.

The talking session, as promised, went on all night. I never felt as connected as I had before the things turned so frankly sexual though. I felt aloof from the group. It was as if I could see them all bonding, shutting me out in the process. I kept drinking my tea to stay awake and answered questions when I was asked. I got caught up in dreading being asked something so sexual that I wouldn't be able to answer, but somehow Hector never asked me those questions.

"We have been awake, aware and alert all night ladies. We have discovered that we are not so alone as we might have thought. Each of you has discovered that it is our modern culture that causes us to forget how to sleep. Today we will have some group activities outdoors as well as some one-on-one sessions. Feel free to talk with each other and counsel each other. You all know how to sleep; help each other relearn." Hector finished speaking and walked to the back of the room, disappearing into shadows.

Penelope hopped up and grinned at us. "Alright, go to your cabins, get showered and change clothing. When you're done come back here for breakfast. Your room numbers and keys are on the reverse of your name cards."