I don’t dream, at least not regularly. I have about five dreams a year. been this way since I was 13(more than two decades ago).

strangest dream: I lived an entire life. from age 11 to 70. went to college, got married, had kids, grand kids. I watched my wife die. held her hand as her body released and went cold. it was real. When I died in the dream, I woke up to this reality. I cried, hard.

I was sad because I hoped to see my wife again after I died and knew I never would hold or kiss her again. once I got over that, I was sad because she never existed in the first place.

Imagine going to bed as an 11 year old child and waking up with the emotional maturity of a man in his 70s. now imagine how fucked up you would be if this happened to your kids.

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worst nightmare: I was CO of a small platoon of soldiers holding a refugee camp during the Zombie apocalypse. A target outside the camp lured a swarm of 100-200 undead to the mouth of the camp in the middle of a foggy night. we had no idea it was happening until it was too late.

the the guards on gate were immediately overrun, never had a chance. CP was in the center of camp, we used an old utility shed that was on site. It had four concrete brick walls and one window that was about five feet up off the ground. If you jumped on the table, you could climb out the window and make your way up to the roof.

I was in CP along with four of my friends/officers discussing plans and exit strategies when the attack started. we heard screams from the civilians.

I stood up on the table and looked out the window while two of the four went outside.

the undead were everywhere. I quickly climbed out the window onto the roof, giving me a vantage point that stood about 10 feet above the ground.

I saw the two officers that went outside were about 15 feet away from post and were being surrounded. I attempted to get their attention and open a path for them to get back inside, but it was too late. I kept firing while the undead ripped them open, covering their dry leathery skin in bright red blood. they glistened in the light. I remember seeing the air around them get cloudy from blood misting up when organs began to burst like hot sausages.

I screamed down into the window for Peter and Sal to get topside with me. this alerted the hoard, and they began to shuffle towards the shed. Sal came out first. I was grateful, I had always been a little sweet on her.

Sal was about my height, 6’ 1". blond hair, green eyes. most called her Wonder Woman or “W” for short because she looked like an Amazonian Warrior.

Peter was inside still, holding the door closed while she got out. Once it was his turn, he knocked over whatever we had left in the room to blockade the door and crawled out. he never made it.

he lost his balance when he sat on the window ledge and started to fall backwards towards the swarm rushing around the building. his rifle was hanging around his chest and fell behind him giving the undead just enough length to start pulling.

Sal reached down to grab him by the jacket to pull him back up but it wasn’t enough. the zeds overpowered them both and pulled him low enough to sink their teeth into his neck and back. I tried clearing them away before he was bit, but they were relentless.

Peter’s last words were, “shoot me! fucking kill me! please cap, just fucking kill me!”

(this is seriously retraumatizing me again I honestly don’t think I can go on.)

nobody survived, I was alive when the zeds got me. I was awake for them pulling my stomach open and ripping my organs out. I felt everything, and woke up drenched in sweat.

I don’t even want to do this anymore, sorry.