Counting sheep on Elm Street is more difficult than you would think.

Content Warning: This post contains descriptions of grisly nightmares about violent historical events. Reader discretion is advised.

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I have chronic nightmares. When I go to sleep, I presume it’s going to be a nightmare. I’m not always right, but I usually am. The nightmares are typically based on historical events.

► I cannot even begin to count the amount of times that I’ve died on the Titanic.

► I’ve slowly drifted on a boat through the flooded New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina, bodies floating around me. I’ve also been left behind at Memorial Hospital, incapacitated in a hospital bed in the dark, left to die.

► I’ve stood right in front of the 2004 Boxing Day Tsunami, while that massive wave barreled towards the shore. I looked up at the wave, and understood there was no escaping my fate. It would come, and I would die. The wave would crash over me, and I’d wake up.

► I’ve witnessed Ted Bundy murder people. I don’t want to elaborate, but I hate those dreams so much.

► I’ve attended executions. The room was dimly lit, and disturbingly quiet. It was the kind of silence that feels heavy and foreboding. The condemned was stuck with a needle, and slowly died right in front of my eyes. The monitor would flatline, and things would fade to black.

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It’s almost 2am, and I’m struggling go to sleep, despite being on 600mg of Seroquel. Normally I’m good, but something about having the first dream of the New Year is making me feel superstitious. I don’t know if it’s an omen of things to come.

This is especially absurdly irrational because it’s not like the already sunk Titanic can sink again. People who have already die can’t die again. Past Natural disasters can’t suddenly reappear and wreak havoc.

And yet, I always get this bad feeling that I can’t explain. I feel like I’m counting sheep on Elm Street, fighting sleep due to a nonexistent clairvoyance. I’m a superstitious idiot.