My gambling addiction has driven me to do things I never thought I’d do: write bad checks, max out credit cards and make up stories about why I needed to borrow money from my family. But most upsetting to me was that my addiction caused me to steal from my parents’ retirement accounts.
That’s really the point at which I knew I needed to get help.
It wasn’t always that way. The first time I gambled was when I went to a casino when I was 18. I’d go a few times a year with friends and family. It was a fun thing that we did together and I never had an issue.
Then, when I was in my late 20s, I started going to the casinos by myself as a way of dealing with my feeling embarrassed about being without a significant other when all my siblings were getting married and having kids. It allowed me to tell everyone I had something to do so they wouldn’t feel sorry for me. They didn’t know I was alone.
I began going every weekend and not just to spend three or four hours. I’d sometimes spend the whole night. Then I started going during the week, and would often change clothes in the car on my way to work from the casino.
My money started to run out, and that’s when I began to max out my credit cards and write bad checks. I learned about ways to get money in which to gamble, including payday loans.
I knew I had to get away from gambling because I’d end up in jail for writing bad checks. I prayed that death would take me away and felt like I was such a loser.
I thought a change of scenery would help me so I moved to Montana to be with my sister.At first, I didn’t gamble, partly because I didn’t have a job. Then I started working and making money and began to venture out from my sister. I learned that bars, restaurants and gas stations had casinos, including Keno, which I had never played before. I started doing that more and more on my way home from work.
I decided to end my time in Montana, partly concerned that my sister would learn what I was doing with my time and money because it was a small town. I called my old boss in back in Minnesota and lucked into a job.
But I wasn’t back in Minnesota for more than a week before I was back at the casinos. I had worked to clean up my debts but now I was going right back into it.
About six months later, I did what I could never have imagined doing. I waited for my parents to leave the driveway as they were heading out of town. I went into my mother’s bedroom and opened up the checkbook for their investment account. I wrote a check out to myself. My handwriting was very similar to my mother’s.
My name is Austin Strom, and I am a gambling addict. I am 24, and for the last seven years, gambling has been my life.
Gambling runs in my family. My parents and grandparents, who had their own gambling battles, would often gamble. I have numerous memories of them arranging a baby sitter to watch me when they would go out gambling.
So not surprisingly, when I had an assignment called “If I had 100 dollars!” in kindergarten or first grade, my response was “I would go to the casino!”
In high school, I would occasionally partake in friendly sports wagers involving my team against my friends’ teams. I would also play Blackjack with friends without betting money, but the objective never changed: win the game.
The day I turned 18 was long anticipated. I went to the casino with my parents and grandmother that day. I didn’t have the best luck, but since it was my birthday and my parents didn’t want me to lose on my birthday, they kept adding money in hopes of turning the tide. I don’t remember how that day played out, but I do remember spending about 12 hours at the casino, losing all I had with me. For the next month, I went to the casino multiple times, including a two-night stay by myself at the hotel. Other than a few hours of sleeping, the rest of the time was spent at the Blackjack tables. I remember one day all I had to eat was a piece of pizza because to me eating was time away from the table.
I was then introduced to websites such as DraftKings and Bovada, where I could partake in daily fantasy sports. Before switching to actual sports betting, I lost several thousand dollars on fantasy sports. I would spend the next two years betting on sports weekly, if not daily. I would wait until the day I got paid, just to eventually drain my account and wait two weeks for the next paycheck. By this time, all of my gambling, which also included blackjack, was done online and I rarely went back to a casino.
Once Covid hit and the accompanying shutdowns, I had no shortage of free time. By this time, my minimum bet was already at least ten times more than when I started. When I ran out of money, I learned about online personal loans. I took out a $1,500 loan and planned to make enough money to pay it off before my next paycheck. But that didn’t work out and I borrowed more and more, eventually owing up to $30,000 over a three-week period.
By this time, I was determined to keep the addiction to myself so that nobody would try to encourage me to stop. This pressure, combined with anxiety and depression I had struggled with for much of my life, brought me to consider suicide. This led to one of a few trips to the emergency room for personal safety.
At this time, I was ready to get the help that those around me had suggested, or so I thought. I enrolled in Gamblers Choice, essentially a 12-step program for gamblers. But my addiction continued, even while it was harder to hide. I came to realize that the program wasn’t something I wanted to do or what I was ready for at the time.
I continued to gamble, but eventually went to inpatient treatment at Project Turnabout in Granite Falls. I met great people who understood what I was going through. It also showed me that this addiction doesn’t care where you come from or what you do. My mindset improved but I left after three weeks, rather than stay for the full 30 days I was supposed to do. I re-enrolled in Gamblers Choice but would continue to gamble until Oct. 9, the day I placed my last wager. At this point, I had lost everything I could possibly lose, including my best friend. I was left with two choices — end it all or give it 60 days without gambling and see if living without gambling was something I could do.
I was assigned a “Goodbye Gambling” letter in my Gamblers Choice group, and I believe that really got me to a new place. Since then, I’ve really looked at everything after that as a new life. I’ve had to and am still currently rewiring my brain’s definition of fun. Sure, the highs aren’t as high as they were when I was gambling, and they may never be that way. However, that also means the lows aren’t as low as they were while I was gambling, and that’s a trade I will take every day of the week. My entire outlook on life has changed since I’ve quit gambling. I’ve got a new hope towards life and what’s to come that excites me. I’m definitely a different person than I was even just several months ago. My gratitude for everything life has to offer has grown substantially, and none of that would have happened had I still been gambling. That’s why it’s important that I just don’t gamble today.
If you or somebody you know is struggling with a gambling addiction, please reach out for help. Do it for yourself. So often we see this message and just let it slide by without giving it any thought.
As dark as it may seem, I promise there is light at the end of the tunnel. Let the journey of recovery be that light for you, like it was mine and so many others. I leave you with this: “Sometimes when you’re in a dark place it feels like you’ve been buried alive. But perhaps, you’ve just been planted and now is your time to bloom.”
It is with great sadness MNAPG learned that Austin was fatally shot on August 17, 2024. Austin was actively embracing his recovery at the time of his death. We continue to publish his story as a lasting inspiration.
Twenty-six years ago, I seemingly had it all. I had three young children, a great husband and a job. I was always the responsible person. I was active in the community, serving on civic boards and advisory councils, and a volunteer coordinator for my kids’ athletics. I was a natural leader, got things done and stepped up to help when needed, just as I was raised to do.
But this great life began to unravel after my father passed away from cancer not long after he was told he was five years cancer-free. I felt a great emptiness and wasn’t sure how to fill it.
My parents loved to go to the casino. They’d go and come home, occasionally asking if I wanted to go. My father would give me a roll of quarters and I’d spend it at a slot machine. I remember thinking it was a pretty dumb way to pass time.
After my dad died, I thought I’d try going to the casino. I played Black Jack, thinking it at least involved skill vs. playing slots. I never played high-stakes games but gradually began to stay later and later at the casino.
Over the course of about three years, I crossed what Gamblers Anonymous (GA) literature refers to as “the invisible line” where recreational gambling becomes compulsive gambling. I became unrecognizable to myself, my coworkers and my family. I disappeared from their lives as well as my own.
When I was in the casino, I wasn’t a “look at me” gambler. I gambled so that I could have enough money to keep gambling — so that I could continue the feeling of numbness. While gambling, I had no responsibilities to anyone. I felt very small, which meant nothing could hurt me.
Although I had a young family, I stayed out gambling later and later, getting home at 3 or 4 a.m. I came up with outrageous lies explaining why I was out so late.
As things worsened, I’d stay out the whole night, leaving my husband to figure out what to do with the kids come morning. Sometimes he’d take them to hourly childcare, other times they’d go to friends.
My husband encouraged me to get help, reminding me that we had a great life with good jobs, good friends and good kids. That sounded great to me, and I believed it when he said it, yet I couldn’t do it, couldn’t bring myself to quit for any extended amount of time. It baffled me that I could jeopardize this great life.
I went to see a special counselor for help. But that didn’t click for me, and I left the session feeling exposed but not cared for. I walked to my car, put my head on the steering wheel and just cried.
I proceeded to make promises that I’d stop going to the casino, but there I’d be back and staying at the casino all night. Sometimes I’d miss my job. My friends were concerned about me but I had them so compartmentalized that they thought it was about them.
Then came a pivotal afternoon in the fall after I’d come home from the casino that morning. My husband was with the kids raking leaves. Then he said to me in a calm, considered manner, “We have to talk about you moving out given the chaos you’re causing.”
That was when I realized that I could lose everything that was important to me. I subsequently called the Gamblers Anonymous hotline. It was the first time I’d spoken to anyone who seemed to understand what I was going through.
The person I spoke with recommended a particular meeting that she thought I’d be comfortable with. I practically crawled up the steps going to the meeting, where everyone seemed to be pretty happy and laughing. I was so freaked out to be there that I probably took in a fraction of what was said. But I remember how they made me feel, and how glad they were that I was there.
I cried and cried for the first several meetings. Things were discussed that really resonated with me, including the words “pitiful and incomprehensible demoralization” that a person with a gambling problem suffers. With each meeting, I walked away feeling more helped and more hopeful. I kept going to the meetings and before long, I felt comfortable enough to start doing service work, such as greeting other newcomers, helping to set up the chairs and, eventually, chairing the meeting.
I’ve since become very involved in GA, including the “business” side. The opportunities and accomplishments I’ve achieved with GA have greatly impacted my recovery, while at the same time helped other people in their recoveries.
For anyone thinking about getting help for compulsive gambling, I would suggest going to a meeting. You’ll find people who understand what you’re going through and the feelings you’re having. It can turn your life around.
I can only imagine how different my life would be had I not found help. But I do know that my life is great today, a continuation of the one I had before gambling sucked the life out of me all those years ago.
Kurt Dahl, a Minnesotan who resides primarily in Washington state, has self-published a new book called “The New Millennium 5 Step Program: A powerful guide to living a gambling-free life.” The book re-examines the traditional 12-step Gamblers Anonymous (GA) program and offers an alternative. He continues to support individual’s participation in GA meetings, but believes the 12-step program, originally designed in the 1930s, needs a more updated approach.
Some of you may have read Kurt’s first book, “Gambling Addiction,” in which he writes about the prevalence of suicide among gamblers. Kurt is in long-term recovery and is an alumnus of the Vanguard Center for Gambling Recovery, which he credits for saving his life.
Kurt advocated for these five steps:
Get ready, get set
Go all in
Take care of yourself
Recovery is forever
Pay it forward
As times change, it’s important that approaches to helping those with gambling addiction be evaluated to make sure they are current and applicable. Our last edition of Northern Light (Fall 2023) noted that the GA Blue Book underwent a significant revision, acknowledging that the book wasn’t as relevant as it could be. Members were seeking an updated guide that would facilitate meetings, work with sponsors, provide clarity on the process and help any reader better understand the program.
Note that MNAPG does not endorse any particular path to recovery. Individuals need to find what works best for them and, if it keeps them out of harm’s way, stick with it.
Looking back on it, my desire for gambling was sparked when I was a kid going to carnivals. I couldn’t do enough to win that goldfish or that toy. Little did I know that that insatiable urge would eventually find me sleeping in a casino parking lot on my motorcycle – homeless, jobless and broke.
My dad was always a gambler and a drinker, and I guess that’s just the way I was raised. It all seemed a part of life. My dad would play poker with friends at Christmas and I wanted to play. Instead, I was given a deck of cards to play by myself.
I grew up in a town in South Dakota that, in the 1980s, essentially became the third legal gambling destination in the country — after Las Vegas and Atlantic City. When I turned 16, I managed to play video poker, even though the legal age was 18. I won my first jackpot — winning $125 on 25 cents! — and that was the beginning of the end.
When I turned 21, I was excited to gamble with my dad and brother. I was up for anything to do with gambling.
I gambled off and on for the next 20 years or so. I also had drinking and drug problems and had been in and out of several treatment centers for drug and alcohol abuse. In 2006, I was sentenced to prison for eight years for writing bad checks and fraud. I remember asking the judge if they had a gambling court as they do for drugs and alcohol, but they had no equivalent.
The way I learned about help for gambling in the form of Gamblers Anonymous (GA) was accidental. I was out on parole after four years of the eight-year sentence and was sent to a halfway house. I remember asking if there was an alcohol or drug meeting close by that I could walk to. The response was, “Yes, but unfortunately it’s only a GA meeting.”
I went to that meeting and that’s when I first found a certain sense of home. I remember thinking, “These people understand why I can’t stop gambling.”
When I first found the GA community, I thought I had my gambling woes — as well as drinking and drugs — whooped. But while I found the right people, I didn’t use the tools properly. Still, I knew from then on that I had a place to go.
I had several relapses, including one after I was six years clean. There were times when I thought I could be a social gambler but my addiction would just pick up where it left off. I realized that what I was missing was not believing I was powerless.
For two weeks at the depth of my gambling addiction (along with other addictions), I hit rock bottom. I’d lost my job and relationship, was on meth and was broke. I had no place to go. I slept near the fireplace of a casino until Security kicked me out. That’s how I ended up sleeping with my bike against a wall in a casino parking lot. I really didn’t want to live any more.
But this time I picked myself up. From the casino parking lot, I ended up at the Union Gospel Mission homeless shelter in St. Paul. While there, I had a moment of clarity and remembered that I still had my sponsor’s phone number from when I attended two GA meetings months earlier. I called him, desperate for help. He was willing to help me, but only if I helped myself. I was ultimately able to get to a regional treatment facility, which helped me get to a healthier place, though I still relapsed for a short time after that. I can’t explain why gambling was the one addiction that I relapsed. I’ve come to realize how baffling and powerful a gambling addiction can be.
The last time I relapsed was six months ago. I’ve never stopped going to meetings and I have a powerful circle of recovery friends. I believe that I don’t have another relapse in me.
I’m 51 and starting school at Metro State University. I haven’t picked a major yet but my goal is to try to get into something where I can be a voice for the court system in compulsive gambling. I want to become a licensed alcohol and drug counselor (LADC) and help others like myself.
I definitely feel like I’m a miracle. I was institutionalized for a chunk of my life. I know I’m not perfect today and still have problems, but it’s a much better life.
Gamblers Anonymous (GA) has unveiled an updated Blue Book, the first such revision in nearly 40 years. The purpose of the book is to better serve both new and current members in their search for recovery from gambling addiction.
Specifically, members wanted a book that would:
o Function as a how-to for GA
o Facilitate working with sponsees
o Help members quickly understand the process
o Be something that would help anyone understand what the program is
The existing Blue Book was dated and generally not being used by the fellowship, according to Tom S., a member of the committee charged with producing an updated book. Considerable changes have taken place in gambling since 1984, including online sports betting and the proliferation of casinos.
“Mostly gone are the days of cigar-smoking horse players and sports bettors dropping a dime in a payphone and calling a bookie,” says Tom. “The gamblers coming to our meetings today are more likely to be casino gamblers, gamblers caught up in state-sponsored gambling, female gamblers and younger gamblers. They didn’t find a connection to the Blue Book of 1984.”
The revised book reflects changes that have already occurred in most GA meetings, including an effort to be more inclusive and an emphasis that meetings be solution-based — including recovery steps — rather than “war story” based.
The book was eight years in the making (partially delayed by the pandemic) and was produced by eight active Minnesota GA members with combined sobriety of approximately 120 years. The book is comprised of all original material, with no language borrowed from other twelve-step fellowships (although twelve-step principles and philosophy are woven throughout).
The book encapsulates the vast experience of its contributors and is a storehouse of ideas for recovering gamblers, covering issues such as how to deal with gambling urges, how to go to a meeting, how to get involved in GA, how to choose a sponsor, how to grow in recovery and how to repair relationships. The book also incorporates material from the GA Combo Book.
New chapters were added that address suicide, relapse, sponsorship, and hope and persistence.
“The chapter on suicide is extremely important and, until now, was completely missing from GA literature,” says Tom.
The new book does not include declaratives, such as “you must” or “you have to” statements. Different viewpoints are discussed and the suggestion is made for gamblers to discuss these perspectives with their sponsor or mentors.
The book is valuable for clients of counselors and therapists who choose to pursue their personal recovery journey in GA. Clients may also see themselves in the experiences depicted in the stories section of the book.
“I would encourage those who work with compulsive or problem gamblers to read this book from cover to cover, as it captures both the despair experienced by compulsive gamblers and the better way of life promised by GA,” says Jeannie B., who was also involved in producing the new book. “Professionals can also use the book to deepen their understanding of the GA program.”
To order a copy of the book, please visit gamblersanonymous.org.
