CAMPING GODDESS

I love to camp! It's my favourite hobby.

My earliest memories of camping is being about four or five. We had a Volkswagen beetle and I recall dad making a DIY roof rack and storage box.

Well, it wasn't really camping I should say. I would be 14 before we actually camped as a family. Nope, 'camping' consisted of throwing a tent, some bedding, and a Coleman stove in the rack and driving hell bent from the lower mainland to Winnipeg for a few summers. Camping was really only an excuse to not stay in a hotel. I am certain we could not afford that.

 So we would drive all day and pull into a campground (you could do that with no reservations back then) after it was already turning dark. I recall watching dad struggle to put the tent up by himself (mom didn't help and that upset me as a child). Mom fought with the old fashioned valve and pump operated stove and whipped us up a delightful dinner of canned wieners and beans or Kraft dinner (which was only for camping in our household). Where was my brother? I never remember where my brother was. Completely ineffectual. A quick sleep and we would be up before dawn striking camp, putting everything back, and jumping back into the car for another full day of driving.

I recall the vinyl seats hot and the interior stinking, worse still on account mom smoked inside. I would sit in the back with my brother being an ass which usually meant my getting in crap while he retained the crown of a golden child.

My memories of camping are accompanied by my parents basically not talking, well dad not talking. Because mom ranted and raved about how awful it all was, why couldn't we stay in a motel like regular people, and that everything was dad's fault. Dad just took it all in and avoided a fight. But I recall my mother, however, being pretty mean to him.

So that happened for a number of years. The cars changed but the squabbling and camping didn't. Boy that smelly tent got dragged through the Rogers pass more than a dozen times I think.

Anyway, fast forward to today. My brother wants nothing to do with camping. In fact, he has not toleration for the out of doors. When it comes to me however, those early experiences did not deter me from later spending a great deal of time outdoors.

I've already mentioned my passion for trees. Camping is merely an extension of that.

I was part of Camp Fire Girls as a child. The troop, the only in Canada at the time, was started by my mom and her friend Mary. While mom was the cool crafting mom, Mary was the outdoors woman I looked up to. For two summers at age 6 and 7 I was sent to camp. What an incredible experience. What happy experiences I had camping. And I still adore it today. Mary did some great stuff with us when it was warm enough outside (it rarely snows on the Lower Mainland). Such great emotions. While the forest was an escape, camping turned out to be something I excelled in.

But I had no encouragement to keep doing so after we moved to the Okanagan. I was put in Guides which was silly. All we did was learn to sew, bake, and stand for finger nail inspection each week.

On the other hand, my brother was put into the scouting program starting with Beavers. He absolutely hated it. He would later describe it as torture but he wanted to keep our mom happy. I recall desperately want to make his cub car. I also need I could make great use of all the camping and fishing equipment stored and collecting dust.

THis story takes a turn however as one day when I was a young teenager, dad through all of our stuff in the back of the car and we actually went camping. There was no destination, just a meandering trip through the west kootenays. We camped for the sake of camping and it was wonderful! I recall Nakusp and dad actually bought us tickets to the hot springs. In Kaslo on Mirror Lake we found a wonderful campsite and stayed for 3 or 4 nights. How wonderful. How awesome. We actually left the tent up and set up camp to last several days and were able to enjoy a campfire and better food. Mom still cursed and I still have no memory of my younger brother. He would have been sticking close to mom though. But Dad and I went on adventures, like fishing.

A out three years later I would go hiking and climbing with a small group from my school. I recall climbing the tall mountain pass. I recall being treated as a somebody because I more than kept up. It was the top athletes and they picked me the only girl. Wow. One of the best experiences in my life. What a taste for adventure!
 

To be continued

Grad 1984

 

So, it is June 1984. I have just told my husband he is not welcome to return after completion of his summer military training program.

It must have been horrible for him. It was for me too. I was crippled with fear and I had not a soul to tell. The decision was terrrifying. I knew it was the right decision. I had been trying to muster the courage to do so for years. 

I had been a difficult relationship. We were too young. It was for the wrong reason (pregnancy after only weeks of dating). It was frought with emotional trauma. Succinctly put, Wes is a psychopath. He put himself first regardless of the outcomes to others. He was cruel. It wasn't just that he had a mean asshole personality, he intended to be a mean asshole. Things just didn't accidentally happen and people get hurt in the fall out, rather he intentionally hurt people and that included me. The examples though don't belong in this story for this story is about the first joy and acceptance I felt in my entire life. How sorrowful that this did not happen until I was 27 years old.

I was alone that spring and summer but all that people knew was that my husband was away on a military contract. I made the decision with the help of the military and civilian assistance. The Family Resource Center was a wealth of resources. They were entirely unsurprised by the nature of my relationship. I guess Wes had been well known as a hurtful man. He had a reputation for it in fact. The resource centre was able to get me in touch with a military social worker and it was from there that a plan was made for me to get back on my feet. Even though a military man, with me living on base, he had restrictions as to his movements. He had bankrupted me and, without my knowledge, failed to pay his portion of rent and utilities for a year. The social work officer was able to help me with that. I could not tell anyone but I lived rent and utility bill payment free for 6mos in order to pay back that which I owed. 

And that is how I found myself in June 1994, penniless and in fear with two children. I was not in a very good emotional state. I don't remember joy in the months leading up to my ten year reunion. I don't recall doing happy things with or without them. 

My mom seemed to recognise I was down. I could not tell her that I had left my husband. First of all she liked the man. As with everything else, the break up of my marriage would be deemed my own fault. But she did recognise I was alone for whatever reason. She knew about the grad reunion. I must have let it slip even though I had had no thought of going. Between the lack of money and the fear of rekindling past pains simply was no way in hell.

As the end of June neared, she stuffed money in my hand a grabbed my children saying I was not getting them back until after the reunion. And THAT was one of the few gifts - the only in today's memory - she gave me.

I think it was the Kmart at Market Mall that I stopped at to by a few clothes on cheap for the occasion. This is important to note. I had not given myself the freedom to buy myself clothes in years. My then husband did not tolerate my spending money on myself. This was difficult considering the vices he spent money on each month leaving nothing for the household. Even if I had wanted to spend it on myself I couldn't afford it. I had a few civilian office appropriate clothes I rotated out each Friday. But I certainly couldn't show up in the Okanagan the 1st of July wearing them. For $50 I came away from Kmart with 3 days of outfits. The remaining money mom had given me would be enough for gas in the car and off I left.

The whole drive westward I was terrified. I do not have good memories from my youth. But I got their and things were different. I was respected. People apparently like me, they actually enjoyed my presence.

You know who didn't like my presence and fact I got chummy with the popular boys now men? The rish bitchy popular girls. They hadn't changed. But we regular girls had and the boys had. When I drove back home after the three days I did so with a smile on my face. I was accepted. Better than accepted I was liked.

More importantly, I was apparently well liked by Gary Taylor, the biggest catch in my high school class. Gary hadn't dated anyone in high school. As he would quietly tell me as we sat alone for hours talking together, he had been too nervous to. He was aware of his popularity mong the girls but intensely afraid that he would never measure up. I seemed he was as intensely lonely as I was. It was very clear our like for each other was pressing. But we were star crossed. I had just left a relationship, he was just leaving one. The timing was off. How would I explain turning up with a new man in hand given the circumstances of having not yet advise everyone I was single. How would he. He was making his break from his own situation how could he explain the same. But nevertheless, a connection was made, a strong one.

We would never hear from one another after that. We simply said goodbye come the end of the reunion and went our separate ways never to be in contact again. But our instant friendship was noticed by others and not all approved. I'm pretty sure the dance we did together threw the others for a loop. Those rich bitches were clearly upset. Gary had belonged to the same popular VIP group as they had and I was the outsider. I could feel their angry fiery eyes on me, the venom they were spitting. And the other men? We garnered more than one knowing smile.

I cried afterwards tears of various sorts. I cried that we hadn't connected all those years ago. I cried at the wasted year between. I cried because I knew we would never see one another again. I also cried tears of joy because, for the first time in my life, I knew I was a worthy person. Thank you Gary.

I cried with my friend that night as we returned to her home at which I stayed for the three nights. She had seen. She knew. She had suspected about the falling apart of my message. She said she and the other no name girls that weren't part of the ruling class in highs school were cheering me on as Gary and I sat talking that night away. And that dance? It was one of the most electrically charged moment I had ever felt. The only other time I felt this was the pivotal night Peter and I attended the Celtic night at Fionne's.

That night was pivotal. I drove back with the resolve to finish what I had started and not allow my ex to take a foothold in my life again. I was a far stronger person driving back to Saskatchewan.

And apparently he had experienced the same thing. Neither of us knew where the other was and we simply went on with our lives. My friend, and he, had been part of the group that had attended the 2009 (25 year reunion). My friend said he made a point of asking her after me. Where was I? Was I happy? Apparently he had done just what he had said he would. Apparently he returned home and made his separation and then divorce a permanent one. Perhaps he drove home to the Fraser Valley somewhere with the same feeling of being worthy - and happy.

I searched for him afterwards and numerous times since. But such things as social media did not yet exist. In fact, in 1994 the internet was still ground breaking. A sear for his name in Surrey and Vancouver came up with a hundred Gary Taylors.

And that 2009 reunion. I had no idea it was happening. I wouldn;t have gone back yet even to see Gary again for things had changed. I once again had no self worth - and I had memories come to me of something very bad. I was getting memories of being gang raped on grad night.

The start of a journey

In 1993, The Celestine Prophecy, James Redfield, was published and it lit up the waves of alternative thinkers. It didn't start the New Age Movement but it sure as heck rallied it.

In the mid-90s I joined a book of the month club. It was one of those clubs where if you failed to deny that month's book you were sent and billed for it anyway. Remember Columbia House? Yeah, just like that. Actually, such a thing doesn't exist anymore and I am kind of disappointed. Anyway, I often forgot to cancel. The result is that I got a lot of books to read that weren't necessarily something I would normally do so. I discovered a lot the period 1993-1994. Mystery, police procedurals, and spirituality. 

One month The Celestine Prophecy landed in my box at the post office. It sat collecting dust while I read first and caught up on the other books that had come before it.

Finally I picked it up.

It took a few attempts to get started. It seemed hokey at first. It is poorly written by the way, in such fashion as someone was talking or dictating the story. Well, it is a story after all.

I did not know what it was but it immediately evoked a memory of a few years early when I had an interesting cassette on repeat in my car. It was one of those things someone picks up at a gas station. I remember getting it. I was falling asleep on the long drive from Victoria, across the ferry, across the Fraser Valley and onwards to Kelowna. I had opted for the Coquihalla toll highway so as to avoid the Hope Slide area. It always gave me the creeps. Anyway, at the half way point I realised I was going to need fuel - soon. There appeared a gas station off the side of the highway. I filled up there and, trying desperately to stay awake bought a music cassette of something highly annoying to jar me awake. I ended up plugging in this music unlike an I had heard before. It was 1991. I can still hear it. Weird. New Age.

What the heck was new age? I didn't know, I didn't care to know. But it got me through the next 2 1/2hrs. So weird.

What was truly weird is there is no fuel station at the top of the mountain highway. I have been over the road eight times since and not seen a fuel station and none appear on any maps? Was I that tired and out of it that I don't recall where I stopped? Scary. 

Finally I was able to bite my teeth into the book. I read it in a single sitting. Well as close to a single sitting as being a mom on her one with an active two and seven year old (oh those are difficult memories) would allow.

The Celestine Prophecy has an important pivotal place in my mind and heart. It got me asking questions. I knew what I wasn't but hadn't known what I was. Now that would take until 2010 to start answering that question  but at the time it was a real knock in the head to figure it out. And so, during the summer of 1994 I would embark on a journey to a place only recently reached.

 

"Leap and the net will appear" ~ Shakti Gawain

The awakening....

I have started and returned to this path numerous times. It started with the accidental purchase of a Goddess spirituality book back in 1995. This launched a hunger for all things on spirituality - particularly women oriented. I will say I had a distaste already for mainstream religion and practices. I have trauma and hate and fear related to conventional church practices. I was drawn in you could say and fell deeper and deeper the more I read - and practiced.

I developed a friendship with a number of like-minded women and yes, we would dance in circles beneath the moon and celebrating the feminine.

Just when I was really engaged and feeling an awakening, I was moved unwillingly to southern Alberta.

Now south Alberta is the heart of oil country. A partner of that oil mentality are a right wing outlook combined with a staunch belief in Christianity. I will include with that Mormonism too.

In that small town of Okotoks where we settled I would - to my horror - discover a Mormon and pentacostal community. The churches permeated the townsite. Even the small parishes of Catholics and Anglicans had a very distinct evangelical flair. It was awful. Church was what people talked about - at the cafes, the bookstores, the schools, workplaces, gyms, and so on. It was EVERYWHERE. There was a pattern. When introducing one's self the other will first ask, "What Ward do you belong to?" You would point out you were not Mormon. So then the next thing out of their mouths is, "Oh, so you belong to which church?" I soon learned that to say you actually didn't attend church, you would be met with a long gasp and it wasn't surprising if the conversation ended there. It was all very awkward.

A few situations arose which would cement me as 'different' and would ostracise me.

• Halloween. Only a few short months after we moved into the neighbourhood, Halloween rolled around and I erected my annual display. That year the display was a large, quite involved, Harry Potter montage. I got a letter, unsigned, that told me in essence that the writer was upset that I had invited the devil into a god-fearing neighbourhood. I would later come to a conclusion it was from the house just across and down the street. I would continue to put up displays by the way.
• Play date. One of the children from that house briefly came into mine. It was only a brief time but it was long enough for the eight year old to catch a glimpse of some pagan displays and artwork that I had placed around the living room. After that occasion, the child and his siblings never returned to the house. I fact they would avoid the property choosing to walk around the sidewalk to avoid it.
• The Pentecostal Pastor. I would discover the house in question belonged to the local Pentecostal Pastor. Ewwww. For nine years I felt as though I was being scrutinised and watched.
• School. Uh, big breath here. This was truly awful. My son(s) came home from school with their first newsletter. To my deep shock and dismay, I discovered on the backside was printed an invitation to a tent revival meeting! Ack! OMG! The fact that I had been asked to donate reems of paper only worsened the situation. I met with the principal - whom I would become quite acquainted with as time progressed. She saw nothing wrong with it. In fact, she said they always did this sort of thing. i pointed out to her that parents or tax dollars had paid for that - shrug. I pointed out to her that it was a public school. She actually had no idea why having advertised a church meeting in a public school newsletter wasn't appropriate. My response was point out that not every student or family was Christian. She was actually shocked and said, "Why wouldn't it be?" Then she dropped a bombshell of a question...... "Who?" My jaw fell to the ground. I told her she couldn't ask such a question. Well that wouldn't be the last conversation I had with her about exclusivity vs exclusivity. 
• Protest. I would get myself into a difficult situation after participating in an international protest at a G7 Summit. I was called into my manager's office and told it had come to his attention I had been involved. When I told him he wasn't allowed to ask me about my political activities his response was to say it was a career limiting decision - and to be careful. After stepping into the foyer I felt bombarded. The walls had the usual notices and copies of Sunday leaflets. But it was also plastered with 'reminders' of how to be a good Anglican. The tone of the posters was extremely Evangelical. I cried all the way home! I then called my father who himself is an Anglican priest. He consoled me and assured me that what I had seen was not what being Anglican was and that in fact he discouraged that kind of rhetoric. He also told me that he was not surprised as it was that parish from which he had received threats some years prior (yeah a story to tell later).
• 9/11. What a horrible day one which I shed many tears throughout it. That evening, feeling absolutely gutted I sought sanctuary of some kind and chose then to go down to what I had known as a child. I went to the Anglican Church in Okotoks. 
• Remembrance Day. The first Remembrance Day (Nov 11th in Canada) was beyond surprising. It actually hurt. For, it was hosted by the Pentecostal Church and for 2 hours I sat through him hammering it in that WW1 and WW2 had been fights of Christianity Vs the heathen. Oh my gosh. I'm pretty sure that the gurkas who fought for Great Britain weren't Christian. I am pretty sure that the Indigenous peoples who had fought bravely as outstanding scouts and snipers weren't necessarily Christian. What about the Jews, and Muslims? What about me? I was insulted. So I actually went to the Church to put my foot down and complain. The leader I spoke too stared at me in disbelief. This is the way we have always done it and no one has complained before.

Now there are so many more instances I could describe but these are the main ones from what I experienced during the first six months of residing in Okotoks, in the Foothills of Calgary and my initial headbutts with fervent far right wing politics and the Christian foothold in the area. Ugh.

What did this result in? How did this affect me? It would result in me hiding who I was, a pagan in a sea of angry Christianity and Mormonism. I removed everything on display in the house that might lead to someone observing that I might be pagan - a witch. That was early 2002. I have never unpacked those belongings. I have hidden my spiritual thoughts. I have not practised any form of any religion.

Freedom and wholeness

 

Trees,

When we moved to a small cottage on the BC west coast, I found it to be surrounded by trees. These weren't just any trees - they were the firs, the cedars, the hemlocks of a rain forest. The trees were massive at 100s of feet high, tapering from enormous moss covered trunks. And this was my home - literally for three years.

I was 5-8 at the time. It was a difficult time of life. The trees would get me through it. They were my escape. They were, my life. I would climb and climb and climb. I would find my favourite massive branch and literally sit back on the bow with legs dangling and breathe in the damp smell of the forest. I contemplated a lot about my limited knowledge thus far of life. The worst part of my day was when my mother stood below yelling at me to get down for a bite to eat.

//She didn't seem to care that I was 200 feet - a 6 year old - in the air. My safety didn't seem to matter to her - a fact I was very aware off. Yet, anytime my brother made an attempt up a tree she nearly keeled over crying in fright for him to come back down. That would be a theme//

We would move - which became a regular pattern. A beautiful - and haunted - old house. It had trees. There were some fruit trees. But it was the four massive fir trees that stood closely together on one corner of the property. We were on a hill; and, climbing 100ft in the air, I could see the volcano of Mount Baker across the Fraser valley. I was very troubled there too, in my haunted house, in my tree where I took refuge. 

//Of note I wasn't entirely alone. I developed the first two friendships of my life. They wouldn't last. The friendships would be ripped away from me. Rabbie would be sent to live for a few months to his extended family in the Punjab. He would come back after being indoctrinated. We had been close, very close. I would say that despite our young age of nine it was a romantic relationship. We held hands. We promised ourselves to one another forever. He was a joy I had never experienced before in my life. But he came back not allowed to talk to girls anymore. I cried when his granma pulled him away from me and smack him across the face for daring to touch my hand. Melanie would be quite similar to me. I would learn as an adult of the abuses she endured. Her sister was handicapped and she would tell me her mom was later diagnosed with a personality disorder. Tough (I think my mom was diagnosed, un-medicated bipolar). When we moved just a year later I lost touch with Rabbie. Only in adulthood would I track down Melanie. She faced hardship to a horrible degree. A very far right religion the family followed. She was forced at age 14 to marry a 60 year old man and join a militia group in Georgia. She would escape that life but it would take her two years to get back across the Canadian border by way of an underground railroad of those who would help her situation. She arrived at the Peace Arch at the border of British Columbia and Washington State with an undocumented baby, no documents of her own, and $20 American dollars. Ugh//

The forest across the street from our next house would be an escape too - when I had opportunity to do so.

At the age of 15 however, we would move yet again and there were no trees to be had except for a line of cedars in a hedge. Ugh. It was a very hard time physically and emotionally. I had no escape whatsoever.

Then came university, several abusive relationships and no trees and the hardest times of my life.

And then it happened...

I was able to pull myself out of the pattern. In the new year of 2010 I ran away from everything. I found myself and made myself a new home. I surrounded myself with art. For the first time I had friends to surround me too. While there were no trees on the property there were for others. But.... I could see trees and mountains in the not too far distance. And there.... I knew.... were trees.

I would visit those trees and spend as much time as I could in them, under them, with them.

The photo? Saltry Bay, Sunshine Coast,British Columbia 2021 

A difficult pattern

 I have been experiencing trauma all of my life. My very earliest memory is of being smothered. I have no

context of the occurrence other than abject fear. I've no idea how old I was. 

There was a horrible incident when I was three. I've had vague memories of huddling in a closet and willing my baby brother not to cry out and let the man know we were there. I can recall a commotion downstairs and the desperate screams of my mother. It was years later that my father let drop that an intruder had broken in and assaulted my mother. 

My third earliest memory very difficult ---- trigger warning ---- I was sexually assaulted at sometime between 3 and 5. To this day certain smells still horrify me. I recall threats to kill my little brother in the same room if I didn't submit.

I would feel worthless the rest of my life.

I was gang raped on the night of my High School Grad party. I went from feel worthless to sexually promiscuous as I searched desperately for social acceptance and approval.

Some years later I joined the Navy. It was very unpleasant. I won't get into descriptions only that sexual harassment and assaults were common.

No wonder I have felt worthless, dirty, and been everyone's doormat for the 58 years of my life

Mom

 I do not have fond memories of my mom. I recall feeling like she loathed me. The difference in her treatment between myself and my brother was quite glaringly over-the-top.

Christmases and birthdays would be ridiculous. First of all my birthday falls late in the year. I realise we were poor but mom seemed to share the holiday gift budget between my birthday and Christmas. It resulted in a small present for each while in comparison my brother's haul was huge. I am not kidding here. This is not an unfounded whine that things are unfair and mom doesn't love me. This was actually quite true.

One holiday I received a skateboard. The price tag of $16.99 was still affixed. But imagine being 12 years old and running out to the living room and Christmas tree. Squished in around the tree and between the pieces of furniture was the biggest haul of gifts I had ever seen. Most of is was unwrappable. Hockey equipment, out door nets, fishing equipment, tent, ruck sack, camp cooking equipment, sleeping bag, pad, and so on. There I was, the outdoor kid in a sea of outdoor gear. How absolutely wonderful. But that was not to be for as I went from gift tag to gift tag, I discovered they all had my brother's name. All of it. That morning, when the family was together and I was forced to witness the show, I put on one of the best Oscar winning performances of happiness I ever did. The explanation? They weren't gifts rather the tools necessary for playing hockey and scouts. Hmmm. Then why put bows and tags on them and put them out for Xmas morning. I made the mistake of asking about it and was slammed down. I remember that Christmas being scared to say or do anything that would risk displeasing my mom.

One holiday I received a puppet. My brother got a computer (at that time a simple computer was about $3000).

One holiday I received a fake Barbie. My brother got a shitload of gifts.

Now we were poor so I never asked for anything. Did this mean to my parents figured they didn't have to give me anything? I irritated me that my brother was always whining for stuff - which he got. Meawhile we ate oxtail soup, marrow from the dog bones my mom would get from the butcher to make soup, rabbit, and horsemeat. Mom sacrificed to put clothes on our back. But my brother asked for everything and usually got i

I always felt like she didn't even want me. When I was older she told me how she had to give up a promising career as a commercial artist. Was I the reason? Was I unplanned? Did she resent my presence? I sure felt that. It would certainly explain the difference in the manner she treated my brother and I. Where as I seemed to draw bitterness, my brother's existence seemed to bring her joy. There was another thing I felt might be the reason for her hate in me...... trauma.

A wanderer in the forest

 

Fifty four years ago I was a solitary, frightened, little four year old.

We had moved to a rural area south of Vancouver near present day Whiterock. Our home was actually a converted cottage. I though it quite beautiful what with it's huge picture windows touched by cedar bows reaching outwards. The cottage was surrounded by forest with a very small clearing for a yard and an equally small clearing for a little Volkswagen Beatle.

I loved this forest. For here, practically clothed in cedar, hummous beneath my feet, soft mosses, and damp smelling underbrush, I was home. I have felt this home only twice in my life. And here, was my first escape from life.

Yes

I was a scared and deeply depressed child. Suicide ideation was constant. I clearly needed help yet no one offered to help. My grandmother, whom I saw perhaps 5 times in my life grand total I think recognised there was a problem. I recall her attempting more than once to set things right for me, to ease my circumstances.

Yes and Yes again.

To say I was not treated well would be a real understatement. All was not well at the Christensen household. It was one of those I-could-do-no-right things. There had also been trauma.

I knew I was different. Than other kids. They were happy while I was not. I was surrounded by youngsters squeeling in delight - in joy. Yet I had none. I went through the motions. There I was a four year old child adept at the art of pretend and acting. I was a role player in life and the role was not an easy one. It had to be constant, it had to be vigilant. All the while I asked 'God' (this imaginary figure apparently in charge of everything) why I had been burdened with the trauma, the tears, a mother I could not please, and so on.

But at five years old, I discovered that God hadn't entirely abandoned me, he had given me trees.

The trees became my life, they were my life. Every living breathing moment I was either in the trees or thinking about being in the trees. I hugged them, I climbed them (very very high s the further I was from the house and the ground it sat on the further away I was from whatever ailed me).

And it ailed me so.

Imagine being in grade one and wanting to escape the fear and loathing so badly that you want to die? 

Yes

Every night I prayed to not have to wake up the next morning. I continued to do this for the next 40 years of life. And no one noticed. No one offered help. 

Life was pretty shitty, but there were times there were trees and life improved a touch.