It only seems that I’ve “forgotten” this blog. No way. I’ve a lot on my plate. An overwhelming amount, in many ways.
Through this … through the holidays … the soul-sucking life-sucking stresses, I chose not to gamble. I am choosing at this moment not to gamble. Despite the undertows lurking and grabbing at my ankles to pull me into darkness and depression and isolation. The very reasons I gambled.
I stayed close to GA during the holidays, a time of great stress for me. I stayed closed by attending two meetings a week and sharing and sharing a group meal after one of those weekly meetings. It helped enormously.
Though the holidays are over — and thank God I say! — I am staying close to GA now too. The stress is no less. In ways, it is worse. I know from experience that if I isolate, I am in danger of gambling. Serious danger. Danger that I’m apt to brush aside for the immediate pleasures and relief that the slots provide.
It never ends, the process of recovery. Never. It’s not as if GA meetings are a shot, like an injection of penicillin, that makes you well. And once you’re well — “cured” — you can go back out and gamble like a normal person. I know well enough from having three years of recovery and going back out that there is no return to normal. Not ever.
A part of me remains, admittedly, in denial about that. Refusing to believe. Not wanting to believe because the love of gambling remains and I sometimes miss it too. The part of me is still there, the part that loves the slots and the casino environment, the lights and the excitement and the sounds and the smells and the bonus games and the thrills.
The endorphins and the adrenalin and the thrills of the possibilities of: one more spin. Just one more spin. Just one more spin. Please God! Make it hit. One more spin. Okay, I’ll go home. After one more spin. Okay, just one more. Really, I’ll go after this spin. {small win} Okay, maybe not …
… ad infinitum.
One must truly embrace the inner gambler and not push it away in order to recover. What does that require? It requires first acceptance of that you are a compulsive gambler. I am a compulsive gambler. I like it too much. Like drug addiction. When I put that metaphorical needle into my vein, I’m hooked. That’s it. Good as gone. Back into the addiction. Overnight. Just like that.
Yeah, sure, the bets may start small. A hundred dollars a night. Up at the casino maybe once a week. But then it explodes. A hundred becomes two hundred becomes three hundred becomes max withdrawals from the bank. Every time I’m at the casino.
Suddenly I’m thinking about nothing but the casino. When can I go again? When can I go and win back my losses. Or win big. A vicious cycle is begun. There is no end point to the desires, the impetus, nee the NEED to go. To chase dollars lost. Desperately. To get lucky and strike it big. REALLY big if I’m super lucky. SO big that my financial worries are gone here on out.
The gambler’s mind is unique in that money lost, especially large sums, to a normal person is reason NOT to repeat that action. To us, it is reason to repeat that action. Over and over. Fueled by desperation. Inability to stop. Loss of control. Hunger for excitement. The thrill of the chase becoming our demise.
In about 2-1/2 months, it’ll be one year clean. It’s been a rough road. A haul. A hard road to hoe. Time’s gone slowly. A lot of times I’ve felt like I’m slogging through recovery. Battling off urges, pushing them away. Reminding myself of the consequences. Consciously recognizing the urges and CHOOSING, consciously, any other action that isn’t a bill into a slot machine. Staring blankly at a wall is a better action than a bet slid into a machine.
Sometimes it’s very tiring, I gotta admit. And no fun. I’m speaking of recovery now. Recovery isn’t half the fun that a night in the casino is. I’m not afraid to say or admit it. The thrill of gambling is exceptional. It’s a high. For sure. An enormous risk of incredible highs and horrible lows.
It is, however, not a life of balance. No fucking way is it a life of balance. Ultimately it is a life of plunge down into a sinkhole. Getting further and further away from reality. Deeper and deeper into the unique mindset of the gambler.
Of this I have to remind myself so that I do not gamble. It’s a thrill ride and a losing proposition, both. Yes, it sucks. But isn’t that the nature of addiction? We love what is killing us. We crave what is destroying us. We don’t want to let go of that which will put us into prison, insanity or death — or on the streets.
I don’t fully understand all the aspects of my psyche that turned me into a compulsive gambler. Unable to stop once I get going and not wanting to stop either no matter how dark and ugly things become. Stopping only because if I don’t, I will end up in one of those four places just listed — prison, insanity, death or on the streets.
It’s no way to live. It is a way to die though. And I’m well aware there’s a death wish that drove my gambling and urge to self-destruct. But that’s another angle and not for today. Just had to be said.
One day at a time is all we’ve got. Each of us, “no matter” how much clean / recovery time we each have under our belts. Ultimately, it’s right now that matters. This day. This hour. This second. This moment. When it is free of placing a bet — in my case slipping a bill into a slot machine — I have a chance for a better life than the one I knew as a gambler and have known in general.
One day at a time is all we have. All we need. For that better future to happen.
bad bets 