In Their Own Words – Dorothy’s Story

Mar 15, 2024 | RECOVERY

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.

In Their Own Words – Sam’s Story

Nov 29, 2023 | RECOVERY

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.

In Their Own Words – Frank’s Story

Aug 14, 2023 | RECOVERY

The first time someone suggested I might have a gambling problem was in high school. Before I went on a casino trip that I won at an auction, my football coach pulled me aside. He told me to be careful with my gambling, to think about what I was going to do.

Looking back on it, I think it was really insightful for someone in the 1990s to realize that someone might have a gambling problem. Unfortunately, I ignored his advice.

I started gambling at a young age. By the time I was 10, I participated in church-related activities, including cake walks, nickel rolls and games of chance. I also played my share of Bingo.

I grew up at a time when casinos were just getting started in Minnesota, and I often went and gambled there although I was under age.

When I wanted to gamble, I would do whatever it took to get the high. This could be gambling in a casino, playing the lottery or playing cards. I bet on hockey games and would even bet with friends on how many times an elevator would stop at a floor. Everything in my life involved gambling and games of chance.

The first time I sought help for my gambling was around 2007, when I went to Project Turnabout. I didn’t finish treatment, but going there was an eye opener. They told me I was a compulsive gambler, an alcoholic and a drug addict. I didn’t want to hear any of it, so I left. But I did take something from it.

For the next 10 years, I still gambled, though I had bouts of being gambling-free. I was in and out of GA meetings.

I suppose if there were a turning point, it might have been in 2017 when a little old lady pulled me aside at a GA meeting. She was probably frustrated because I still gambled some. I remember she told me three things: 1. “You’re going to make it,” 2. “Whatever you do for the next 12 months, don’t gamble,” and 3. “Keep going to the meetings.”

I found that I took a natural bond to her and what she said. I built a trusting relationship with her. If someone else told me the same thing, it might not have stuck.

I now work as a treatment coordinator. At some point, I hope to work strictly with people who have gambling problems. I thought I would be a special education teacher but I became fascinated with the social services aspect. I feel I can help people in a different way and engage them in conversations about recovery.

My advice to people struggling with gambling is to go and check out many meetings. You will find one that feels right, and when you do, treasure it. Stay in the present moment as long and often as you can, get humble and be teachable.