GA
GA.
Gambler's Anonymous.
I never thought I would need something like GA in my life... I look back over the last 22 years. My great successes and triumphs, my rich experiences, my friends (though so many have come and gone). I just never would have imagined, not even five or so years ago, that I would end up in an addictions program. Second in my high school class, heading for UM with an inexplainable passion for music, reading, writing, math, art, photography. Drugs, alcohol, gambling, even a romantic relationship -- all at the bottom of my list of priorities.
I'm not even sure I know how this all happened, really.
Those who know me well know that I have been battling with the grips of gambling for almost two years now. What started out as a few trivial bets at "the suke" (miccosukee), turned later into large sums wagered online, even larger sums borrowed, countable big wins, countless major losses, and a dose of heartache and draining nearly incomprehensible to both myself and those around me. My enthusiasm for even music and photography is now nothing but an anemic representation of a life once so full of promise, a life so much richer.
I have had countless low, horrid, terrifying moments. I'm not sure what brought me to my knees this time. The last bet I made was on Monday morning, January 9th. After having spent more than 12 hours at Hops and having earned more than $170+ dollars, I made my usual way out to the Suke. It was only an hour or so before I found myself sickened, down to my last $20. Somehow, it was as though the machines felt my pain -- I won all of my money back and managed to be up about $10 or so. I sat there and stared at the machine, silently battling with it. I kept telling myself this was the chance to leave with my earnings for the day and a few hours of "fun" (read: irresponsible stupidity) under my belt with no harm done. I cashed out. Minutes later... $20 back into the same machine. Lost. Left it. Saw a seat in the poker room open and bought in. $60. Cashed out a few hours later with about $27 or so. That $27 + the rest of the money I had in my pocket went into the machines and I found myself leaving after 7am sometime, empty hands, empty pockets, empty gas tank, empty-hearted.
It wasn't the amount I spent that morning that hurt so much. I've lost WAY more before. It was the fact that I had worked SO HARD for those 12 hours on my feet, dealing with crappy guests, the 3-course promotion from hell, screaming managers, nearly blistered feet. That's what made it hurt so much. That, coupled with losing everything I'd made for a SECOND night in a row, was a recipe for a phone call for help. Not to mention the timing... with bills piled high and the harassing phone calls already trickling in.
At about 7:45am, through clenched fists, a lump in my throat and a terribly wounded ego, I called the only person who I thought would be awake, and one of the only people I knew that would listen, care, and act -- Mrs. Doucha. We met that morning in her office and she gave me a sloppily hand-written list of things to do, steps to take, the first being to attend GA that week... made ever-so-intense by my having to promise on the lives of both Roger and Amy Doucha that I would be at that meeting. I cried with her, as I did the whole way there and the whole way home. All these tears from a person who refuses to cry in front of others.
I went to the meeting. Both last week and this week, and I am just so overwhelmed by it all. Hearing the painful and shocking stories of others is seemingly enough to scare one away from the addiction. Yet, all I can think of is when I'll be able to gamble again.
I steadily dreamt of being a professional card player over the past year or so. What of that dream now? The glamourized shows on TV have only added to the blissful reverie which I'm now trying to knock down, brick by brick, day by day. Yet I can't help but watch the WPT/WSOP shows and still longingly wish to be those people! I can't help but turn on the internet and check my casino emails! I can't help but open up Pokerstars, Partypoker, Epassporte and think of making a deposit! Stars is running in the background on my desktop right now and I'm literally FIGHTING not to make a deposit!
I am so terrified of going back to the painful existence I was in just a week or so ago, but want nothing more than to wager something ... on anything.
I'm conflicted beyond belief.
I still can't believe that I am now attending Gambler's Anonymous.
I know I need it.
I know I want my old life back.
Gambler's Anonymous.
I never thought I would need something like GA in my life... I look back over the last 22 years. My great successes and triumphs, my rich experiences, my friends (though so many have come and gone). I just never would have imagined, not even five or so years ago, that I would end up in an addictions program. Second in my high school class, heading for UM with an inexplainable passion for music, reading, writing, math, art, photography. Drugs, alcohol, gambling, even a romantic relationship -- all at the bottom of my list of priorities.
I'm not even sure I know how this all happened, really.
Those who know me well know that I have been battling with the grips of gambling for almost two years now. What started out as a few trivial bets at "the suke" (miccosukee), turned later into large sums wagered online, even larger sums borrowed, countable big wins, countless major losses, and a dose of heartache and draining nearly incomprehensible to both myself and those around me. My enthusiasm for even music and photography is now nothing but an anemic representation of a life once so full of promise, a life so much richer.
I have had countless low, horrid, terrifying moments. I'm not sure what brought me to my knees this time. The last bet I made was on Monday morning, January 9th. After having spent more than 12 hours at Hops and having earned more than $170+ dollars, I made my usual way out to the Suke. It was only an hour or so before I found myself sickened, down to my last $20. Somehow, it was as though the machines felt my pain -- I won all of my money back and managed to be up about $10 or so. I sat there and stared at the machine, silently battling with it. I kept telling myself this was the chance to leave with my earnings for the day and a few hours of "fun" (read: irresponsible stupidity) under my belt with no harm done. I cashed out. Minutes later... $20 back into the same machine. Lost. Left it. Saw a seat in the poker room open and bought in. $60. Cashed out a few hours later with about $27 or so. That $27 + the rest of the money I had in my pocket went into the machines and I found myself leaving after 7am sometime, empty hands, empty pockets, empty gas tank, empty-hearted.
It wasn't the amount I spent that morning that hurt so much. I've lost WAY more before. It was the fact that I had worked SO HARD for those 12 hours on my feet, dealing with crappy guests, the 3-course promotion from hell, screaming managers, nearly blistered feet. That's what made it hurt so much. That, coupled with losing everything I'd made for a SECOND night in a row, was a recipe for a phone call for help. Not to mention the timing... with bills piled high and the harassing phone calls already trickling in.
At about 7:45am, through clenched fists, a lump in my throat and a terribly wounded ego, I called the only person who I thought would be awake, and one of the only people I knew that would listen, care, and act -- Mrs. Doucha. We met that morning in her office and she gave me a sloppily hand-written list of things to do, steps to take, the first being to attend GA that week... made ever-so-intense by my having to promise on the lives of both Roger and Amy Doucha that I would be at that meeting. I cried with her, as I did the whole way there and the whole way home. All these tears from a person who refuses to cry in front of others.
I went to the meeting. Both last week and this week, and I am just so overwhelmed by it all. Hearing the painful and shocking stories of others is seemingly enough to scare one away from the addiction. Yet, all I can think of is when I'll be able to gamble again.
I steadily dreamt of being a professional card player over the past year or so. What of that dream now? The glamourized shows on TV have only added to the blissful reverie which I'm now trying to knock down, brick by brick, day by day. Yet I can't help but watch the WPT/WSOP shows and still longingly wish to be those people! I can't help but turn on the internet and check my casino emails! I can't help but open up Pokerstars, Partypoker, Epassporte and think of making a deposit! Stars is running in the background on my desktop right now and I'm literally FIGHTING not to make a deposit!
I am so terrified of going back to the painful existence I was in just a week or so ago, but want nothing more than to wager something ... on anything.
I'm conflicted beyond belief.
I still can't believe that I am now attending Gambler's Anonymous.
I know I need it.
I know I want my old life back.