My gambling addiction is no joke. I collect addictions like little boys collect baseball cards, or like rich chicks collect shoes. I haven’t found a vice that I wasn’t able to get down with. Well, except spice. That shit is all bad. Fishing on the concrete and stumbling around like some drunk with down syndrome didn’t look very fun to me at all. But that’s about it. Shit, if there’s gas in the tank I’ll huff it. My addiction to gambling has always been there, since the time I was like 12 and I won my first $100 on a $1 scratch ticket. I could spend a lot on scratch tickets but it was nothing to what I can lose at the casino. I managed to stay out of the casino for the first 40 years of my life, occasionally playing blackjack when I would go to Vegas but I never caught the bug and so I hand no problem walking away. Well I caught the bug now. I ate that motherfucker. I got 99 problems and they probably all stem from gambling. Sometimes I kill it, winning time after time, gambling for hours, sometimes days, stacking bread and being able to slide out a winner. Gambling funded my escape from Colorado and my move to Oregon. It paid for the jeep that I rolled and for my plane ticket back home to Colorado after I rolled it with money won at the casino. But the house always wins and so it goes that I win $2,500 only to lose $5,000. The casino has put me in more financial trouble over the last 2 years then all the girls I’ve been with combined. I’m a fully functional addict 99% of the time, rarely allowing my addictions to interfere with my real life but that 1% is reserved for booze and gambling. That 1% is super non-functioning, and in fact is dangerous and counterproductive as fuck. Gambling threatens the safety and future of especially me but also all of those close to me. When alcohol became dangerous and counterproductive or at least when I became truly aware of the fact, I eliminated that shit quick as fuck. I need to do that with gambling. It’s been bad for a minute but it’s gotten to where I can’t ignore it anymore. Something has to be done.
Published by devilmonkey666
I'm a hot mess. A 41 year old child who still doesn't know what he wants to be when he grows up. Or even if he wants to grow up for that matter. People say I'm a writer. I'm not so sure. But it is therapeutic and helps me from going all the way left sometimes. View more posts