Confession: I Once Lived Underwater
There’s something I’ve never told anyone before—not even my closest family or friends. It’s the kind of thing people wouldn’t believe, and even now, as I write this, I question whether it’s safe to say it. But the weight of this secret has grown too heavy, and I need to let it out.
I once lived underwater.
I’m not talking about swimming or holding my breath. I mean truly living underwater, in a world that exists beneath the surface. It happened years ago when I was much younger. I had been chosen to become a traditional healer, a role that is both an honor and a heavy responsibility in our culture.
It all started with strange dreams. Night after night, I’d see myself walking into water, deeper and deeper, until I was fully submerged. But I wasn’t drowning. I could breathe, and there were people waiting for me. Some of them looked familiar, like ancestors I’d only seen in old photos. Others were strangers, but they felt important, like they knew me better than I knew myself.
One day, an elder from my community approached me. He said he had been watching me and knew I was destined for a special path. “You’ve been called,” he said simply. I didn’t understand what he meant at the time, but I listened. He told me that to truly accept my calling as a traditional healer, I had to go through initiation, a journey that would bring me closer to the spirit world.
Part of this journey required me to go to the water. I was scared, but the elder reassured me that I would be safe. He said I’d be guided by the ancestors and that everything I saw would prepare me for my role.
On the appointed day, the elder and another healer, an older woman, took me to a river. The water was calm, almost unnaturally so, and the air felt heavy with something I couldn’t quite name. They didn’t explain much, only that I needed to trust them and follow theirs instructions.
They performed rituals on the riverbank, chanting and sprinkling herbs into the water. Then, they told me to step in. I hesitated. The water looked dark and endless, and I felt a deep chill run through me. But I remembered the elder’s words and forced myself to take the first step.
As soon as my feet touched the water, I felt something shift. It was as if the river had come alive, wrapping itself around me and pulling me forward. The elder and the healer encouraged me to keep walking, so I did. Step by step, the water rose higher, until it was over my head.
To my surprise, I could breathe. My lungs didn’t burn; instead, the water felt like air, cool and soothing. I kept walking, and soon, the world above disappeared.
What I saw next is hard to describe. Under the water, there was another world, a place that looked like an ancient village. There were houses, pathways, and even trees, but everything seemed to glow faintly, as if lit from within. The water wasn’t dark anymore; it shimmered with a soft, bluish light.
At first, it was peaceful. I felt a sense of calm, like I belonged there. There were people too—at least, they looked like people. They moved slowly, their bodies swaying as if carried by an invisible current. Some of them looked at me and smiled, while others ignored me completely.
The elder had told me that this was where I would learn. The spirits here would teach me the ways of healing, how to connect with the ancestors, and how to use the gifts I had been given. I tried to focus on that, but something felt off.
As I spent more time there, I began to notice things that disturbed me. The people underwater weren’t all... alive. Some of them had hollow eyes and pale, lifeless skin. They floated aimlessly, their mouths opening and closing as if trying to speak but no words came out.
I also started seeing things I couldn’t explain—figures standing in shadows, watching me. Once, I saw a woman with long hair covering her face. She was sitting on a rock, her body stiff and unmoving. When I got closer, she turned to look at me, and her eyes were empty sockets.
I asked the elder about these things when I returned briefly to the surface for a ritual. He only said, “Some things are not for you to understand yet.” But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had seen something I wasn’t meant to see.
One day, I was wandering through the underwater village, trying to learn as much as I could. That’s when I stumbled upon a place I now wish I had avoided.
It was a large open space, like a gathering area. At first, it seemed empty, but then I saw them—the dead. Hundreds of them, standing silently in neat rows. Their faces were blank, their bodies unnaturally still. In the center of the group was a figure I couldn’t quite make out. It looked human, but its form kept shifting, like it wasn’t fully solid.
I don’t know how long I stood there, frozen. But then, the figure turned toward me, and I felt an overwhelming wave of fear. Its eyes—if you could call them that—seemed to pierce through me. I heard a voice in my head, deep and echoing, saying, “You don’t belong here.”
That was when I knew I had to leave.
Getting out wasn’t as simple as walking back to the surface. The water, which had once felt calm and welcoming, now seemed heavy and oppressive. Every step felt like I was being held back, like the river didn’t want to let me go.
I called out to the elder in my mind, hoping he could help me. Suddenly, I felt a pull, like an invisible hand guiding me upward. I followed it, pushing against the weight of the water, until I finally broke through to the surface.
When I opened my eyes, I was back at the riverbank. The elder and the healer were there, but their faces were grave. They didn’t ask me what I saw, and I didn’t tell them. But I could see in their eyes that they knew.
Since that day, my life has never been the same. I didn’t finish my initiation, and I never became a traditional healer. Sometimes, I feel like I failed, like I turned my back on something important. Other times, I think I was spared from something I wasn’t ready to face.
The water still calls to me in my dreams, but I’ve never gone back. I’m too afraid of what I might see, of what might happen if I do.
I don’t know why I’m sharing this now. Maybe it’s because I can’t carry this secret alone anymore. Maybe it’s because I hope someone out there will understand.
If you’ve ever felt the pull of the water, if you’ve seen the things that live beneath the surface, know that you’re not alone. But be careful—there are things down there that aren’t meant for us to see.
Signed,
Someone who has seen too much.
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