By Nicole Marie Hilton, November 18th, 2019
Some believe Satan can only attack us if we invite him to, they believe Satan cannot harm us physically, and they believe little children are protected from Satanic attacks. DID/SRA victims know these beliefs are false. They are less than helpful and possibly even dangerous, because ignorance increases our vulnerability.
One night I had gone to sleep in my room, which was in the basement of my parent’s house.
I had had many attacks in that basement—my panic attacks, my “dragon attack”, seeing a demon, physical abuse, and other things from my childhood happened there. Anessa, my friend, was also attacked in that basement several times. But some good things happened there as well—like seeing deceased LDS President Thomas S. Monson in a dream, sitting in the big leather chair and physically feeling Heavenly Mother rock me back and forth, and traveling spiritually to the future. To this day, I’m still ambivalent about the basement.
On the night in question, I got into bed quite late. The room was dark, and my dogs were sleeping just outside of my door. I lay back onto my pillow, but couldn’t get comfortable.
I switched positions several times, and then I felt an oppressive weight settle over me. My heart started beating erratically. Somewhere deep in my body, there was a knowing—I was about to die.
I fought it—the thoughts, “No! I don’t want to die!” and, “I’m completely fine leaving this earth right now,” bounced around my brain.
In my extrasensory perception, I could tell this was not a normal death—it was caused by unseen forces of darkness which were intent on bringing an end to my life.
As I felt life struggling to stay within me, I had a crazy thought: “I can’t die and pee all over this bed! I don’t want mom to have to clean that up.” So, I clenched my pillow in my right hand, rolled out of bed, and crawled all the way to the bathroom—which was tiled. I lay halfway on the tile, and halfway on the carpet with my pillow under my head. I collapsed in exhaustion, and rolled onto my back—my arms falling to my sides.
I felt the life seeping from my fingers, and they grew cold. Something in me—my animal brain, perhaps—started to panic and knew that the end was near. But my spirit was completely at peace. I was okay with leaving this way.
As the life drained away from my hands and then my forearms, I tried moving my fingers, but they wouldn’t even twitch for me.
My dog Edward lifted his head, jumped off the couch, and ran to me. He started whining, and circled around me several times. Chewy came second, and started doing the same thing. Chewy lay down by my right side, and Edward licked my left fingers repeatedly, whining even louder. He lay down next to my other side with his head on my arm. I’d never seen my dogs act this way before.
The life drained from my lower legs and the whole length of my arms. My heart beat faster and faster in fear. But I grit my teeth and decided to face death with a smile on my face.
Tears streamed from my eyes, and the oppressive weight fell upon me in greater and greater waves. The end was near.
I could tell my body was more than 50% cold and lifeless now. I thought, when death overtakes me, will I be able to leave my body? Will the angels come for me? Or will I be doomed to be attached to this body as it decays in the earth? I had scenes of myself cross my mind, lifeless at my own funeral, with my mom crying over my casket. I saw that there weren’t as many people as I would have liked there, and there was so much left unfinished. So many stories left untold.
I decided, I don’t want to die! I’m not ready! Oh God, save me!
Then everything went black.
I woke up in the morning next to my dogs, who were wagging their tails. I was—obviously—alive.
Sometimes I like to imagine what unseen battles were raging, unseen, all around me and over my body that night. Other times, I don’t want to think about it at all.