In a writing workshop I took a while back, we were tasked with writing a first person account of our own death. At least, I think that’s what the assignment was. Or maybe it was just meant to be a fear? Anyway I wrote mine as if I were drowning – and the memory of writing it is almost as visceral as the times where I thought I might drown. I don’t know why drowning is so potent for me. A past life death perhaps?
The fear of it was once so strong, I didn’t really learn to swim for fear of taking my feet off the bottom for more than a moment or two. Which I know isn’t logical. One would think a fear of drowning would make me want to know how to avoid it. But pretty much the extent of my anti-drowning skills were several variations of the Dead Man’s float.
The Hamlet Project 