Gambling’s not about winning and losing.
It’s about playing.
Ask any troubled gambler and s/he will tell you this.
“I can’t hold on to winnings. They go right back into the machines … or to the dealer .. back to the house.”
Doesn’t matter how much you win, it’s never enough. It’s never enough to stop you from gambling.
Sure, you might walk out with a wad of cash. Feel great. Swear that’s it, you’re up and you’re never going back.
Maybe you won’t for a while. You might put those winnings toward needed or desired. You spend them like a “normal person.”
Eventually, however, often sooner than later, the casino’s siren song returns.
The lure, the memories and sensations of the good times, the fun, the excitement, the rush, the opiod that is gambling grab hold.
Perhaps first they tickle. Soon they become an itch that won’t be ignored or denied and you gotta scratch it. You get in the car and you’re on your way, as if in a trance yet alive, anticipation pumping through the veins. The opiod that is gambling.
I’ve had big winnings, jackpots, stacks of $100 bills counted into the palm of my hand. Most are smaller jackpots. I’ve never hit one above $10,000 but once came close.
That cold hard cash in the hand … in the pocket … in the purse … even purposefully secured in the wallet so’s not to spend it (ha!) is an amazing feeling! Especially after a run of losses, angst-ing over cold machines and daily withdrawal limits, cash advances and their added costs.
A NORMAL person would quit while ahead. Pocket the cash, perhaps celebrate over a nice dinner or such.
For a gambler, that cash is MORE REASON TO PLAY even when reason dictates, demands and encourages you to walk away — perhaps because now you’ve at least broken even … or marginally trimmed your losses.
Money in the pocket is reason to play.
I’ve cruelly, brutally, unforgivingly, harshly, sadistically, monstrously beaten, kicked, berated and eviscerated myself inside for every gambling behavior … from driving to the casino … to entering one … to using ATMs when I shouldn’t … going to the cashier windows for more cash, regardless of the costs … to spending every last dollar and cent in my wallet and car … to forgoing health and sleep needs to play through the night … to giving back my winnings AND THEN MORE OF MY OWN MONEY.
Yesterday I happened to win a couple jackpots that together put me comfortably ahead of my “investment.” OHHHHHH the good things I could do with the money. Like pay rent for a couple months. Cover expenses on an upcoming long road trip. Ease money pressures.
Yet “before I knew it,” the winnings were gone. Whittled away by this machine, that machine, favorite ones, unfamiliar ones, ones that hadn’t paid anything and thus were due to hit now, ones that had paid and might hit again.
In the Zone. I was in the gambling zone for many hours.
And EVEN THOUGH my reasoning thinking mind recognized the benefits of those nice winnings … EVEN THOUGH it told me “now’s the time to leave, just make yourself go, take the wins and walk out the door, you’ll feel so much better …”
I COULD NOT DO IT. Or would not. I didn’t WANT to. I wanted to play. To keep playing long as possible.
The gambling rush supercedes reason.
And I beat myself up something FIERCE for giving BACK money. I beat myself up more for that than I do losing because I think about and imagine ALL THE GOOD THINGS I coulda shoulda woulda done with the money.
The good things I threw away. IF ONLY I HAD LEFT. Taken just that one small action woulda changed so much.
The shame and self-hatred are profound, invincible. I deeply and fully hate myself more when I win and give it back than I do when I lose.
Wins, especially those significant, are double-edged swords for gamblers.
Because gambling’s not only about winning. Or losing.
It’s about playing. Staying in the game.
Playing as long as possible. Playing until you can play no more, whatever the reason. Maybe you have to go to work. Or have run out of money. Or gotta be somewhere.
Gamblers leave casinos reluctantly and only when forced, because they have to, not because they want to.
And I, as a longtime gambler, am guaranteed to spend my winnings, one day or another, one way or another. And I struggle with that because it’s Just So Fucking Stupid.
That’s me. A fucked-up stupid gambler. If I were put before a firing squad, I’d say “go ahead, pull the triggers, guys. I am a stupid worthless piece of shit who can’t stop won’t stop gambling — don’t WANT to stop no matter what sums are handed to me.”
If that’s not the height of stupidity … I don’t deserve to live, indeed I deserve the opposite because I CANNOT DO NOT DO NOT WANT TO walk away when I’m a winner. “Winner.”
No problem gambler’s ever truly a winner. We may win in a moment but in the course of things, we end up losing …. so much more than the money.
I can’t get it through my stubborn and intelligent mind that simplest truth: As a troubled problem gambler, no matter the money in the pocket:
You Lose. I Lose.
bad bets 