The Puzzle of Life - Human Nature

A footnote to my recovery:

Personally speaking, this phenomenon called Human Nature continues to puzzle the hell out of me.

Especially when it's dealing with certain humans from the past. Humans who, except for Facebook, are no longer a part of my current life and now live many miles away.

My question to my self these days, is why do I continue to attempt to " make nice " to certain humans who do not believe that I have changed..or that I will ever change?


It also seems to me that some humans from my past seem to be happy that I am no longer around them or "their family."


So, it's a lesson that I have yet to learn.


I have to learn that doing the best I can for me and my recovery, and attempting to make amends to people from my past, isn't always going to go as planned. And that trying to be a nice guy on social media, but not in person, to a certain family of broken females, well meaning mothers and daughters that I have so-called "left behind" and continue to leave behind, is not always going to be accepted and appreciated.


Yet, it seems to me that some of their current pain is not mine to fix. And, there are some things I cannot fix. So, no matter how I see myself these days, some humans from my past will continue to see me as the guy who, for a very short time, came into their life and ruined everything.


The way I see it is certainly not the way they see it. To me, it seems I'm still an easy target for their current problems. If their life is not going well, it can still be easily blamed on someone from their past. A guy who let them down, "left them behind."


To them, I'm still a monster, or at least someone who once involuntarily hurt their feelings.

Forgiveness is out of their current reach. And they seem to enjoy that fact.

So, I guess sometimes I have to add these certain humans to my Facebook block list. And, don't get me wrong, it's not because I don't want to have contact with them, but only because they simply are not on the same page as me. And, also because I refuse to be an easy target for their current life-problems.

I guess some pieces of that old unfinished puzzle will never fit right..no longer slide easily into place. Maybe those broken and discarded pieces never did fit.


Maybe I wanted them to fit so badly, that I bent and twisted them and made them fit. And now, maybe they are so torn, damaged and twisted that they will never fit correctly?


And, if I choose to stand back and and take a good look, with clean and sober eyes, it's not a very pretty picture. Certainly not a complete picture. Not the complete family with the house and white picket fence.


Looking back, it's a puzzle made from pieces that just didn't fit.


No matter, even nearly 20 months into recovery from poisonous chemicals, I continue to fool my self by thinking that, If I just turn them a certain way, this time they will pop perfectly into place and the picture will come together beautifully.


That's my current problem.


I guess it's still my puzzle to figure out.


It's the puzzle of life...and human nature.


Thanks for reading.


~ GWM


1 / 23 / 2019

- 6:18 AM

" I'm not following your frame of mind
Complaining about this life all the time
Surely something good here as the world spins by
Could you please stop being so mean
This will never work out that's what you say
It's the end of the world again yesterday
When I see you coming at me I'm gonna walk away
You need to stop being so mean."


~ Mean - John Mellencamp

Suicidal Thinking

Just sharing this: I felt terribly depressed yesterday for no apparent reason..except the recent bout of heat and humidity and my asthma condition, which—even here, close to the ocean, sometimes makes breathing a struggle.

I begin to romanticize. Thinking that my life has been a waste of everybody's time..including mine. Funny, but not funny. Because when the human brain doesn't get enough oxygen, or too much oxygen, it can play tricks..and cause suicidal thoughts.

Especially now, early in my sobriety, as I have written here in previous posts, without drugs or booze to calm me, sober 14 months in August, these thoughts are a common thing—but not bad enough to cause me to go back to the hell I came out of.

So, if I don't focus on my breathing, and slow my mind down..I can quickly get anxiety attacks, make the wrong decisions, and into trouble mentally.

From that point, from my past history of relapse, it's tough to say what could happen.

I might just say, to myself, fuck it ! the movie is over, and  now I must leave this cold and empty theater of life through the nearest door I can find. Perhaps the first one I see with a lighted Exit sign flashing above it.

That's exactly what irrational and suicidal thinking is like for me.

It comes in waves, and nearly drowns me with it's sudden presence and furious anger.

And when it leaves, like the falling of a full moon tide, it leaves me on the cold dry sandy beach, alone and afraid.

We addicts have been told by Jiddu Krishnamurti, Eckhart Tolle and other Meditation experts, in their books and videos, that deep breathing and crazy thinking cannot happen simultaneously..the brain can't do both at once.

So, when I focus on my breathing it brings me back to the reality of the present moment, and out of the fantasy of killing my useless self.

Escaping from stupid thoughts is sometimes a struggle, but writing these little blog posts is very cathartic. And it helps me tremendously.

So thanks for reading. I hope I have explained the process that my mind takes in it's constant struggle to stay alive, sane, and most of all clean and sober.
~
"Everything is eventual. Change happens every second. Change for the better can happen as fast as change for the worse. It's just a matter of holding on until it passes."

 ~ Garth MacIntosh - Outlaw_mann on Twitter / July 27 / 2018

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5rOiW_xY-kc

Grand Canyon Prison Blues

In the late fall of the year 2000, while Autumn leaves were falling, I was separated from my wife.

Also, I was constantly drunk, popping Hillbilly Heroin or (Oxycodone) and hanging-out in the filthiest places, namely, Country Music Bars called "Whisky's" and " Little Nashville."

Late one chilly-night, drunk out of my skull, I got picked up staggering along in the middle of a street called Wyse Road in Dartmouth. Locked away for being intoxicated in a public place.

I guess I put up quite a fight before being battered and beaten by the city cops and thrown in the Drunk Tank. 

The next morning I woke up in a freezing-cold Halifax Jail cell and was told that I was not going anywhere except to the local court house.

I was charged with assaulting two police officers, and resisting arrest to which I pleaded guilty and was subsequently sentenced to one year at the old (torn down now) Sackville Correctional Center, located, or "tucked away" I should say, behind a forested area in the suburbs called Cobequid Road. 

I was friends with a beautiful young lady at the time, and when I called her from the Jail to tell her what had happened, and to ask if she would be there for me when I got out, she started singing a song that I'd never heard before, called "There is no Arizona."

And then she Laughs hysterically, and informs me to turn on the country music station, listen to the words of the song and I would have the answer to all my questions. 

Needless to say, but I will say it anyway, my beautiful mystery lady wouldn't accept anymore phone calls from me while I was locked-up.

And when I was released, she had moved. 

I haven't seen her since. 

Maybe she lives in Arizona. However, that place does not exist for me. I will never go there. 

No Painted Desert, no Sedona, no Grand Canyon, and certainly no Arizona.

Thanks for reading.

~ Outlaw Mann

Jamie O'neal- There is no Arizona. This song is for you know who you ...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P_vJcr3al48

My Opioid Overdose Diary

"He who is not busy being born is busy Dying" ~ Bob Dylan.



Last June, nearly a year ago, at age 55, I was given up for dead.

I  was at the Dartmouth General—tubes down my throat, intravenous, interstitial, etc. etc...my heart had stopped and subsequently had been jump-started again by the staff physicians.  My family were called.

And now, 11 months later, I feel reborn, clean and sober and willing to tell everyone who will listen, what works and what doesn't work.

The heart beat that nearly stopped for ever, goes on and on once more. I have also once again found my voice.

You see, it seems I had once again purposely overdosed by swallowing a handful of Opioids. The brand name doesn't matter, the content is all the same. Pain Killers, the illegal kind, in pill form. If that wasn't enough, I had quickly washed them down with 2 large bottles of Listerine Gold.

I then proceeded to calmly walk out of my apartment at 203, 3, Farthington Place.

I remember taking a long cool breath of crisp Dartmouth air before turning left onto Brule Street, and suddenly everything went Dark. Someone from a nearby Transition House saw me collapse and quickly called the Ambulance who were followed by Police.

I woke up in the most uncomfortable position, flat on my back, strapped to a rock-hard hospital bed. My father, Charles Sr., was sitting in a chair to my left. The 78 year old guy told me there and then that I was finished and he was finished. The bell had sounded. The 12th round was over and the self-hatred fight within me was now over for good. He politely said that 27 years of beating myself to a pulp in the twin Cities of Halifax and Dartmouth was long enough. I was going back to the place of my birth, located on the southern tip of the province of Nova Scotia,Canada.

This old man, my father, who had once contributed to some of my long ago pain, was now my savior. He gathered up what was left of me, placed me in the passenger seat of his Dodge Pick-up, and brought me back here—back to the tiny fishing Village of Lockeport.

I was busy dying back then, now I'm busy Living. It's early in my awakening—that I do realize. But my eyes are fully open. And even though I am not in that moment, there doesn't seem to be any mountains to climb in this one. So I will stay in this rather than that. I hope you understand my meaning here. It's important not to allow my thoughts to roam into a future that hasn't yet arrived.

I'm Grateful for what I've learned from the 27 years of creating my own private "Heaven and Hell." One which included Jails, Institutions, and AA meetings. Yet, I no longer want any part of that life..because even the life of being an AA member has its drawbacks, if one allows it.

For example, Love and Tolerance, although it is always preached in the rooms of AA, is seldom practiced. They also preached, but seldom practiced, that if one should trudge along on some invisible but omnipotent and powerful path, and listen closely to the token "Guru of the Month" who just happens to have years of questionable sobriety, and even more questionable credibility, you may, just may, stay sober.

In my case, I was too old and too tired and damaged to listen to anyone. Especially a load of Bill Wilson disciples (although they won't admit that) whose literature hadn't been updated in 80 years.

I knew that I somehow had to find "Me"..and then, and only then, I would find the illusive so-called "god of my understanding." I found out later, that the search was from the inside outward, not the other way around, as they had tried but failed to instill in me.

I already had all the built in tools for finding out who I was and what made me tick, I didn't need their 12 step programming. I had been programmed my entire life. I needed to be deprogrammed.

All I needed was 12 months of fresh air and meditation..soul searching in the solitude of nature.

I went walking along the local beach—strolling along on the smooth white sand—while the roar of the rugged North Atlantic played a natural symphony for me and my shaky footsteps in the background.

Then, in late Autumn, I went Deer hunting with bow and arrow. With no plans to hunt, only to find a quiet place to sit and reflect on the how and why of it all. To make a new friend to this so called "Self." This material body and psychological mind.

I meditated inwardly about the totality of brain and brawn. The Alcohol and foreign chemicals that I had poisoned myself with for years, were suddenly were no match my new and healthy thoughts and freshly oxygenated brain. And the human philosophy that makes us want to name-tag everything disappeared. Nothing had a man-given or god given name-tag. It simply"Was." And I was part of it. A being not a doing.

The name given to me by my mother at birth no longer held any significance. 

The Ego that was continuously whispering for me to get drunk or high was no-longer there. 

Garth and MacIntosh were just two words assigned to me without my choosing. 

In hindsight I could have been called "Outlaw" and it would have been much more fitting.

I'm suppose to refer to myself as an alcoholic and an addict. But is that who or what I really am? 

Does that truly define me?  We are those humans who hated ourselves at one time, and had no voice, and no one who would truly listen without prejudice. We are now ready to shout to the rafters about the importance of staying chemical free. Of free thinking, and freedom of thought, which, in my opinion, is true freedom.

" I maintain that Truth is a pathless land, and you cannot approach it by any path whatsoever, by any religion, by any sect." - Jimmu Krishnamurti