When I Knew My Gambling Was a Problem

I don’t know the exact moment I realized my gambling was a problem.  I think the recognition happened slowly over about a year leading up to my first Gamblers Anonymous meeting.

One thing that stands out in my memory is a brief but intense relationship I had with a man I’ll call Bear.  We were so drawn to each other from the moment we met.  The attraction—physically, spiritually, mentally—felt like we were destined to be together. 

On our first date, Bear took me to a park where he poured soda into champagne glasses for us.  He explained that he’d spotted the drink in a vending machine at work the day after we met.  As he turned the can, I read the words “Share a Coke with Paige.”  We joked that just in case we thought our meeting was coincidence, Fate had thrown in an unmistakable sign for good measure.

After our picnic, Bear took me to his favorite steakhouse.  Both of us having grown up in Texas, we shared an enthusiasm for an excellently cut and cooked piece of meat, not all that easy to find in Ohio.  There, we shared a fabulous and leisurely dinner while continuing to get to know each other.  I didn’t think a first date could go any better. 

Then, while sharing a dessert, Bear’s demeanor slowly deflated like a balloon that’s worn thin after being overinflated too long.  I imagined a light hissing sound as he flattened, wondering what I had said or done. 

He struggled with the words but eventually disclosed to me his issues with addiction.  It was a lot to process, and I asked him why he felt compelled to tell me all this on our first date.  He said that he liked me too much to wait and see if I would stick around after finding out.

I did stick around.  I wanted so badly for it to work, for both of us to be happily intertwined and madly in love forever.  After all, I thought, weren’t we destined to be together?

But over the months, as we settled in and I learned more about his struggles, I started to think of my own issues with gambling.  When he spoke about addiction, his thoughts and feelings sounded eerily similar to those that I was having more and more frequently in relation to my gambling.  In fact, I realized that the more comfortable he felt sharing his issues, the more I was hiding my trips to the casino.  And if I did tell him about a trip, I lied about how long I had stayed and how much money I had won or lost.

When our relationship disintegrated, I still hadn’t admitted to my gambling problem—either to him or to myself.  It was just too easy to let him take the fall and think that his issues were the main source of our woes.  I probably believed that back then, too.  Now I see how easy it is to rationalize one’s own missteps while shining a spotlight on someone else’s.  But as Elvis said, “The truth is like the sun.  It can hide behind the clouds for a while, but eventually it has to come out.”

As many couples do, we had vowed to remain on good terms and maybe try being just friends.  At the time, I was too hurt and didn’t really think staying in touch was a good idea.  But a few months later, I sent him an email that read in part:   

I thought about starting this letter a couple of times over the last few days, and I'm really having quite a bit of anxiety about putting all of this in writing--like that makes it so permanent and unchanging and perhaps unforgiving.  In fact, last night I had a dream about having a panic attack, and it woke me up to having an actual panic attack.  I don't know if that's related or not, but it's never happened before . . .

I just need to rip the band-aid off so to speak . . . I have a gambling compulsion, possibly an addiction, and I've only told one other person besides you, and I know I need to get help for it.  And I'm not asking for your help or for your forgiveness.  All I'm asking for is a sympathetic ear, which it seems that you might be able to give.  Now before I start crying too much and before I lose my strength, I will hit send.

I remember feeling my heart beating out of my chest when I hit send.  I imagined vomiting up my actual heart and watching it flop around on the floor still beating. 

And then I waited for an eternity—a whopping 28 hours—for a response, the whole time wondering if I had made the right choice, wondering what he would say or what he would think of me.  Then I began to wonder if he would even reply.

To say that his response was exactly what I needed to hear at that time is an understatement.

He has such an eloquent way with words, but I’m not comfortable sharing those here.  Instead, I’ll summarize the highlights. 

He thanked me for my courage and my willingness to open up to him.

He said that these kinds of issues mess with our heads and make us feel less than human.

He reminded me that I’m not a bad person and that I am lovable.

He stressed that I was not alone in my struggles.

He closed by offering to talk or meet anytime and telling me I had his full support.

To be honest, until I started writing this blog post and going back through our emails, I had forgotten much of what he said.  Now, I can see just how much his words and support truly propelled me toward recovery.  It didn’t happen overnight, but several months later on February 27, 2019, I sent him this email:

Bear . . . I owe you a huge debt of gratitude.  I attended my first GA (Gamblers Anonymous) meeting last night.  I believe being able to open up to you about my issue and your response to it were truly my first step in the right direction.  Since then, I have taken other baby steps, but last night was a big one, or so it felt . . .

I don't know if words can express how much I appreciate you for being you.  Your spirit has cast an indelible mark upon my own, for which I am ever grateful.  Thank you.

We stayed in touch for quite some time, mostly through email.  But eventually Bear moved away for his job and our messages stretched further and further apart until they had nothing left to hold onto.  I emailed him about a year ago but never received a reply. 

I think Fate did put Bear on my path, just not for the reason I had initially thought.  I’m here today in large part because of Bear.  I can see how his words have stayed with me, have helped to shape how I view myself now and in the way I might be able to help others.  I wish I knew if I had been able to do as much for him.

Wherever you are, Bear, I hope you remember that YOU are lovable and YOU are not alone.