How do I get my girlfriend to knock off this annoying habit?

My girlfriend has this habit where she waits until I fall asleep, then gently puts her hand on my forehead and says, “goodnight, good luck tomorrow.”<br><br>It’s so friggin annoying. Every night she does this, no matter how many times I’ve asked her to stop.<br><br>Now, I know what you’re thinking. “What’s so annoying about that? It’s kind of cute, actually. Why would you even care?” And believe me, I’ve heard those types of questions enough. But I’m sure you’ll understand my concern once I explain.<br><br>When she touches my forehead, I teleport into a different universe, one that looks exactly like our own, except it’s a post-apocalyptic wasteland. The moment I wake up in that place, I’m visited by a group of survivors who seem to know me. They tell me when I appeared the first time, I told them my people back home were on the verge of developing a cure for whatever chemical in the atmosphere caused the end of that world. They said I told them that if I could find a way to communicate with my past self from their time, I could get the location of all the supply caches we had hidden away before the Great Upheaval.<br><br>Well, as you can probably guess, I have no idea what they’re talking about. When they first told me, I tried to explain that I’m not actually from their future; that my individual timeline isn’t the same, and that the version of me who exists there is probably dead. But they wouldn’t listen. They insisted I was lying, that I was trying to keep their salvation for myself. They bound me and threw me in a cell, where I had to spend the rest of the night.<br><br>That first night, they didn’t bother me that much. I was mostly left alone, and they only came in twice to bring me some water and ask me more questions. I was bored out of my mind, but I figured it was only temporary. Eventually they’d realize I was telling the truth, or else they’d accidentally let something slip that I could use to escape.<br><br>But the next night, things took a turn for the worse. The first thing I noticed as soon as I got to that place was that the survivors who took me to my cell looked different. Their skin was darker, as if they’d been spending more time in the sun, and their eyes were a strange shade of green. They didn’t wear the same clothes as the ones from the previous night, and their hair was styled differently.<br><br>I realized then that they weren’t the same people I’d met the first time. They were from a different timeline. Which meant that every night, I was teleported into a completely different universe.<br><br>Now, you’d think this would be good news. If every night I was in a different universe, maybe one of them would be more willing to listen. Maybe one of them would actually believe me, and let me go.<br><br>But it’s not like that. No matter how hard I try to explain that I’m not them, that I’m not from their future, that I have no idea where their stupid caches are, they never listen. They always lock me up and abuse me in one way or another. Sometimes it’s just neglect, leaving me without food or water until I’m weak and delirious. Other times it’s straight up torture. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been stabbed, burned, or cut.<br><br>You have no idea how agonizing it is to go through that kind of pain every night. I can barely function during the day anymore, all I do is sit in a daze and try to prepare myself for what I’m about to go through. And my relationship with my girlfriend is beginning to suffer as a result. She doesn’t understand what’s going on, but she knows how much this is affecting me. She’s told me straight up that if I don’t go see a shrink, she’ll have no choice but to break up with me. But I don’t want to see a shrink. I know I’m not going crazy. And even if that were the case, I’m not sure I’d want to be cured.<br><br>You see, I’ve been using my time in those cells to try to communicate with my past self. I write on the walls with my own blood, telling myself to find a cure for the apocalypse, to make sure humanity survives so that I can get out of this goddamn chair and into a better life. I don’t know if it’ll work, but I have to try. Because if I ever find a way to get my hands on that cure, you can be damned sure I’m going to use it to change the course of history. I’m going to make sure this shit never happens. I’m going to make sure these people never suffer the way I have.<br><br>And then, once I’ve changed the course of history, I’m going to come back here and kill that bitch. I’m going to stab her, suffocate her, set her on fire. I’m going to hurt her, hurt her, hurt her until she screams. And when she finally dies, I’m going to resurrect her, just so I can kill her again. I’m going to murder her so many times that every time she hears someone say “goodnight, good luck tomorrow”, she’ll shit herself in terror.<br><br>And then, after I’ve killed her enough times to satisfy me, I’m going to lock her in a cell somewhere and let her starve to death. I’m going to make her feel everything she’s made me feel these past few weeks. I’m going to let her feel the pain of being locked up, stabbed, cut, and burned. I’m going to make her feel the pain of being me.<br><br>But until that day comes, I’m stuck in this chair, waiting for her to put her hand on my forehead, waiting for her to say those words that have haunted me for so long. And then I’ll be spirited away, back to that goddamn apocalypse, back to those fucking survivors who won’t let me go.<br><br>I swear to God, if this keeps up, I’m going to lose my mind.