Back during Covid I was temporarily laid off for several months because I work a restaurant that was closing until the end of the pandemic. It was the first time that I truly had nothing to do for as long as I could remember, so I did what I thought I should do, and turned off my alarm clock. I've always been a wild dreamer, and I dream vividly every night all the way through until I wake. Sometimes they are vignettes, sometimes its a whole-ass life in my dreams, but they are always there, every night.
At first I would pop up at 9am like I did for work, but eventually I got used to it, and I stopped waking up early. Soon it was 10:30, noon, 1pm. All the while I was dreaming more and more. With no hard cut off from my alarm clock, my dreams would come to their natural conclusions, which was steadily becoming my death in my dreams. Sometimes violently, sometimes of old age, but it got to where every time I went to sleep, I knew I would die that night, somehow. This isn't some creepy-pasta or anything, it's a true story, and I genuinely started getting panic attacks before bed because I didn't want to dream my own death, again.
Of course, eventually I did the smart thing and turned my alarm back on, but for a while I was locked in my version of Groundhog Day. My already natural nihilism played into all of this, and sometimes I slip into a dark thought about death, and I have a nihilistic version of my inner monologue telling me, "You've done it before, and when it happens, just let it happen." It's kinda fucked up, and it's been years now and I still have some issues about it.
