When people who died and come back to life say they saw a bright light, they are full of shit. It’s not necessarily their fault though. The mind has a difficult time figuring out things it has never experienced, therefore the mind cannot understand. I’m one of the special, select few who have experienced death and rebirth…often.

Before you start banging your head against your keyboard, let me first say that I am not some silly movie monster or a ghost writing you from beyond the grave (at least I don’t think so). I am human, just like you, and I am a God-fearer, just like many of you, and I enjoy the vices of life, just like you. The only difference, probably, is that my vice is a little…unorthodox.

If you look hard enough (yes, even on Reddit, though I don’t recommend you go snoop), you will find I am not alone in my indulgence. I’m actually in several clubs, support groups, message boards, whatever, as it pertains to my vice. It’s always safer this way.

I should probably point out that my favorite movie of all time is “Flatliners.” I watched this movie at a time in my life that it had a very profound effect on me. I’ve often wondered if it would have made the same impression had I watched it a year before or after I became a slave to my addiction. Silly me even attempted to become a medical doctor because of that movie. I didn’t take into account how the side effects from my addiction would literally cripple important parts of me (so much for performing surgery with one arm).

Okay, enough pussyfooting, I’m here to give a warning, so let’s jump right in it then.

I love to be suffocated.

To clear the minds of those who live in the gutter, yes, I’ve partook in and have enjoyed erotic asphyxiation. The orgasms can be mind blowing…again, literally. I DO NOT RECOMMEND IT TO ANYONE. Many of my friends are in it just for that, and I’ve lost several friends going solo and even partnered. It is nothing to mess around with. Just so I am crystal fucking clear, I AM NOT ADVOCATING THIS SHIT.

Besides the euphoria from the sensation and powerlessness I get from being suffocated, I have a dual purpose. I like flirting with death. There is something scientifically and spiritually satisfying…no, necessary…for me to push the envelope and see what’s on the other side of that door. I’ve had the fascination since I was 8 years old when I drowned in my backyard pool. Obviously, I was resuscitated but before I was I had my first NDE (“near death experience”).

I did not see a bright light at the end of some tunnel. I didn’t fly through space to some far away galaxy and I did not see our Creator. But one thing that I can confirm is that your life does “flash before your eyes.” It has every time I’ve reached death. I’ve become so familiar with it that I now use it as a marker for my research. The easiest way I can describe the flash is more like my life experiences being downloaded or even unzipped like some computer file. I am conscious of it, even aware of what is flashing in my mind, but it all happens at a different speed than that of the conscious world.

Then it all goes black. And yet you are still there, aware, conscious but without your bodily senses. You cannot see, you cannot hear, smell, taste or feel, but you can SENSE. It’s so hard to describe but the best I can do is that depending on what experiences are flashed in your mind, you will sense variations of great heaviness or great weightlessness when you are in the dark. There is ALWAYS a presence.

I didn’t quite understand it until after the 8th time I went under. The first 7 times I always sensed the great heaviness, like what you would imagine deep sea diving would feel like but without the suit. It was never pleasant. But on my 8th time, I happened to have an incredibly wonderful day. My brother returned from the first Iraqi War, I made out with my lifetime school crush, and I happened to be rolling when I decided to go under, this time for the pleasure. That’s when the happiest moments of my life flashed in my mind before entering the darkness and into the great weightlessness. And it was at this moment I first sensed something I did during my other sessions, I realized I was sensing “it.”

I’ve since gone under over 30 times, and during my research/euphoria I have lost function in one of my arms, partial function in my legs, much of my sight and now some of my speech. I can think and type normally, but my motor skills are decaying. I know that my flirtation with death will soon be up since my body is not built to tinker with the other side the way I do. And so now I have found it necessary to share my research with you all.

I think “it” is a psychopomp. For those who do not know, a psychopomp is a “guide of souls” whose responsibility is to escort newly deceased souls to the afterlife. I do not think their role is to judge the deceased, but simply provide safe passage for the departed. I have sensed its presence every time I’ve gone under and I now believe that there are many more than one.

My warning to everyone is this: if you are capable, make sure when you are ready to die that you find yourself in a good place, emotionally. When death comes and you are angry, sad, or even surprised, the great heaviness does not feel like something you want to carry on…wherever “on” leads. I’m not saying there is a Heaven or a Hell or any other religious theme to my warning. I’m simply warning that from what I have sensed, you better be living the good life when it’s your time to die.

As for me, I no longer have the chance to die a happy man. I have been living in perpetual fear for the last month. A month ago to the day, I sensed numerous psychopomps at once for the first time. This isn’t abnormal when I am under and after my NDE. But it is abnormal when I am conscious and alone, like I was a month ago (and every day since) when I was sitting at my computer browsing the Internet. I don’t know if I sensed them because my normal physical senses are lessened, but I do know I sense them. It is as if they were floating around the room, pacing like a hungry pack of wolves behind their fenced cage. And each day I choose not to go under, more and more of them arrive. All of them pacing and waiting, pacing and waiting, pacing and waiting.

I know the next time I go under will be my last. It has become strikingly apparent that the psychopomps are rabidly fiending for my soul. I do not know if it is because I pissed them off for teasing them all these years or because I have a soul they ALL want to collect. What I do know is that when they do finally claim their prize, I will be in the throes of true primal fear.

Like the stranded calf at the center of the wolfpack.