I believe that life will repeatedly show me things I have to work on. If something keeps coming up then it’s probably important and it needs to be looked at. I have noticed lately that determination has been popping up like weeds in the spring. My determination sucks. I mean, it needs a lot of work.

One of my coworkers is training for a competition. His schedule is grueling. He started by working out at least 6 days a week. He cooks for about an hour a day just to prepare proper meals for his day. He eats around 6000 (yes, 6000) calories per day. He literally forces himself to eat and train. Apparently it’s a mindset.

Every day I see him I work to make it a point to ask how his training is going. At the moment he is Taking 3 days off to allow his body to repair itself. He had arrived at a point where he was sore all the time so he realized he needed a break. During this phase he continues to eat, and eat, and…yep, eat.

What does this have to do with gambling?

I have been using his training as a metaphor for the dedication that’s required to change parts of my life. I have such a lackadaisical attitude and at this point it really feels like I’m just not going anywhere.

What is the right amount of dedication?

I suppose that depends on what kind of a person you are. My friend has his “road to the championship” in mind. He eats, breathes and lives his training. He is totally dedicated to winning. He sees it in his mind. He envisions the steps after his win. He even enlists help from his daughter to support him.

I listen with admiration and wonder. I have never experienced that amount of dedication to something!

Ah, wait for it…yes I have!

I was completely dedicated to my gambling!

Perhaps you can relate?

So now what?

1. Figure out where you want to focus.
2. Make a step toward that focus, even if it’s a tiny step.
3. Keep making those steps.

* Re-evaluate*

Is this really what you want in your life? Is it going the way you’d like it to? What tweeks need to be made to see greater success? What are your shining points?

Be sure to acknowledge yourself for making progress to change things in your life.

Blessings my friends.

P.S. One of the steps I have made in my life is that I went to my first grief group last night. That was HUGE for me. Watch for the post in the next few days.

As gamblers caught up in the chase we tend to forget about those around us. We are trapped inside our own pain and don’t want to think about anyone else. I sure didn’t want to deal with anyone else.

Please keep in mind that our habits, addictions and actions affect others as well. Contrary to our common belief, it’s not all about us. Blessings as you go forth and honor those around you.

Nobody Gambles Alone by William P.

Mine was not a particularly religious household growing up, but even I knew there was such a thing as the Devil, and in my house the name of the Beast was video poker and it had my mother by the throat. Let me say that again, Video Poker. The capitalization is not an accident.

It’s such an innocuous thing isn’t it? They look like those old video games – the stand up machines you used to find in the back corners of 7-11s or at the grocery store by the check out aisles: Ms. Pac Man or Asteroids, one of those. Only unlike a video game, the places we haunted paid out for winners under the table. It was a pretty sweet arrangement – if you weren’t me.

Even today the smell of a Red Baron pizza baking in a tinny, behind-the-bar oven or the sight of a maraschino cherry bobbing in a coke laced with grenadine (we called them Roy Rogers when I was growing up) is enough to send a little shiver down my spine. Really, I cannot overstate just how much of my childhood was spent (some might say completely wasted) in dimly-lit, smoke filled rooms populated with all the detritus of humanity that the 1970s and ‘80s could produce. The mullet wasn’t a hairstyle choice – it was a requirement at the door.

When I tell people about this I invariable get a comment like, “How bad could it have been? How long can someone sit at a video poker machine?”

You might as well waive red cape in front of a cartoon bull. How long can a gambler sit in front of a video poker machine you ask?

How big is the ocean?

How many doobies have been smoked by hippies listening to Phish?

Once, when I actually bothered to time my mom, we arrived at one VFW at around eleven in the morning and left at one o’clock – the next morning.

Believe me, there’s only so much playing with the two Star Wars actions figures you thought to bring along that the ten year old version of you can do. On the other hand, it was in places like those that I received a first rate education in the misery of the human condition. Professor “Town Drunk” and professor “Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder” were diligent teachers if nothing else, and I was an attentive student.

If I was really lucky we’d end up in some dive with a video game machine like the ones I mentioned earlier. Sometimes though, like when ‘Nam vet hears a car backfire, the flashbacks come and it’s like I’m there again, standing in front of Pac Man with a sweaty, fist-full of quarters. You weren’t there, man. You don’t know what it was like.

And this was the pattern of my childhood. When the need was on her we’d head off for some godforsaken hole-in-the-wall where my mother would while away the hours. And if I asked when she thought we might be going home I’d get the same responses over and over again.

“It’s going to come around and start paying off again – just a little while longer and then we can go.”

You can add that one to, “No new taxes” and “There’s weapons of mass destruction over there”.

Finally we reached a breaking point, my mother and I. On a flimsy pretext of driving out to California to visit family we hit the holiest of holies, the gambler’s Mecca, that oasis of sin in the desert known as Las Vegas.

This was not the Vegas of Dino and the Chairman of the board and the rest of those Rat Packers and it was certainly not the shiny tourist extravaganza it has become today with glass pyramids and Blue Man groups. No, this was Vegas of the 1980s.

The Excalibur was only just being built at the time and Circus Circus was about the best you could hope for in the arena of family entertainment.

I knew we were in trouble when we made it there in what had to have been record time from our departure point in Eastern Colorado. Honestly, I didn’t know you could push a 1964 Pontiac Catalina that close to the ragged edge and survive.

I suppose the little penny slots in every filling station we stopped at should have given me some idea of what I was in for, but I was young and at night Vegas is almost pretty – almost.

Forget the strip, which even then was at least whore not too far past her prime. Oh no – my mother set her sights on Sam’s Town and that’s when I learned that Video Poker had a partner in crime: the Slot Machine.

And that weekend is reason along with so many others is why I had the privilege of attending a Community College that prided itself on being top in the country – in turf management.

For three days I watched my mom get up in the morning, drag me down to the extremely questionable buffet, and then head over to a row of slot machines for a hard day’s worth of pissing away what little money we’d had with us when we rolled into town. I, in turn, was set lose to wander around a third rate casino for the next ten to twelve hours with a pocket full of quarters for the video arcade and a few bills for lunch.

The gold rush motif was entirely lost on me, though I did think it was slightly odd that to get to the bowling alley I had to go down an escalator made up to look like the entrance of a mine.

All in all we spent six days (you didn’t think we just drove past Vegas on the way back did you?) in that neon Hell and two in sunny California visiting my grandma. And when we made it back home? That’s when I really became a latchkey kid.

You might even say I insisted on it.

And that’s my story. It’s not really over yet, my mom still gets the urge and she still succumbs to it, but it doesn’t involve me anymore. Sometimes she mentions winning this or that, but those stories don’t interest me because they haven’t changed. They’re the same ones I lived through when I was a kid and my single mom worked three jobs to support us and her habit. And even though I never turned into a gambler, I got to live the life up close and be a part of.

I rather wish I hadn’t though.

I wrote this post a few weeks ago. I suppose I could have just tossed it in the trash but in the spirit of sharing I am choosing to publish it now. We all go through our rough spots.

What matters is how we deal with them.

A few days ago my marriage therapist asked me how I was dealing with my mother’s death.

Dealing with it? Well, time is passing and isn’t that supposed to heal things? Am I supposed to DO something?

I have been pondering the answer to her question since she asked. The picture I see is not good. I’ve been sleeping more. I’ve stopped doing household chores. I’ve been playing games more. I’ve been hanging out and talking with friends more so I can bury myself in their problems or lives. Simply put, I’ve been running and hiding.

I haven’t stopped long enough to feel much. When I do, I fall apart, sobbing and feeling a flood of grief wash over me. That really sucks.

This is where I feel that I owe you an apology. I realize that a lot of folks read this blog and take comfort knowing that they aren’t alone in their struggle with gambling and the aftermath. I haven’t been there for you lately. I haven’t been able to pull myself together enough to keep writing and offer my hand. For that I am truly sorry. My passion and desire to help with gambling issues hasn’t wavered. It’s just that I am going through a personal crisis.

I am frustrated to say that I haven’t handled it the way I know is best. I have leaned on my old habit of not dealing with it and hoping it will just go away. The pain has been too overwhelming for me to do it a better way. I am at another point of understanding…and forgiveness.

I am working on forgiving myself for…well, being me. A vulnerable, sensitive human being who has been devastated by a loss. The thought just entered my mind that my mom used to tell me she’d give me something to cry about. Indeed she has. Weakness wasn’t an option with her. I was taught to be “strong”. “Suck it up Kimberly Cathryn.”

I can’t mom. I’m sorry, but I can’t. It isn’t working. I have made appointments to begin grief counseling. I am taking steps to get back on track. I don’t want to do it the old way. I’m reminded of my gambling addiction. If you have read my book, Numb No More, you know that the addiction was triggered by loss in my life. I don’t want to walk down that path again. I have to fight.

So how am I handling it? I’m beginning to fight…for life.

I hope you forgive me. And I hope you forgive yourself for the struggles in your life. Everybody goes through tough times and won’t always make good decisions. The key is figuring out when it’s time to change course. And then allowing yourself the love and encouragement to do it.

Strength and blessings my friend.

I have recently been strongly encouraged to make and deepen connections with people. I haven’t been sharing intimate details of my life for a while. I have been listening, but my sharing has been lacking. I imagine that people don’t want to hear about my troubles. Surely they will like me more if I’m not a bummer. I need people to like me. I need approval. Unfortunately it is keeping others at a distance. People who care about me don’t know what’s been going on and why they haven’t heard from me.

I decided that this isn’t going away on its own. I keep making little starts but I’m need help in moving forward. The bottom line is that I am devastated by my mom’s death. I know it’s been months. Apparently there isn’t a time limit on the healing. Go figure. I had no idea how much I would be effected by it. The truth is that it’s hard to keep my head up.

I am reaching out for help. I am on my way to visit my best friend who is more like a sister to me. I’m speaking to people instead of avoiding them. I am encouraging more interaction with folks who gamble and need my help.

This experience is a solid reminder of the hole I was in with gambling. I knew that there was a problem, but I had to be ready before I could deal with it. And, as usual for me, I have been kinda ready numerous times and made baby steps. Then I will retreat to my safety because it’s too scary. Each time I crawl back under the rock I feel even worse because I have yet another thing I have failed at. I have been weak and I need to make continuous choices to grow stronger. I have been opening up sharing that I’m not ok.

In the recent past the smile on my face is usually forced. Now I am being more open and letting friends comfort me instead of hiding my pain from them. I even joined a team at work that holds each of the members accountable for exercising. Each little step is a step toward feeling better.

I have enlisted the help of a village because I can’t do it on my own.

Are you ready for your village?

Oh, going to the horse track sounds fun! Sitting outside, getting to meet the horses and jockeys would be cool. I’ve never been, can we go?

Playing bingo would be a kick. There’s a hall a few miles away and the players would be really fun to watch. Let’s get a group together and go play!

Wow, the lotto jackpot is really up there! I’m going to go buy a few tickets.

Wait. Don’t you have a gambling problem?

My confused and protective friends get nervous that I’m “falling off the wagon.” They worry that something is wrong and that I’m giving up on my “sobriety.”

These days I am immediately touched and grateful that I am around people who care about me. Defensiveness used to be my first reaction. I would let them know they were out of line and I would squirm out of the conversation by being mean and firing away at them. That didn’t serve me very well though.

Now I take time to see it as an opportunity to educate another person about my passion. I explain that compulsive gambling was an important part of my past and that it doesn’t control me anymore. Besides, my drug was video poker or video slots. Raffles, lottery scratchers, sports betting and the like were never my problem.

The reactions are varied, but many times it feels like I get blown off. They seem to think that once an addict, always an addict. The folks in GA would always caution about gambling of any kind. Even office pools were considered gambling and a danger to your “clean time.” Other people were allowed to tell me if I was sober or not. Or if my behavior was acceptable or not.

Do you experience that too?

It seems like people want to keep me categorized as an addict. It’s like I fit into a tidy box when they consider it. That shows me their reluctance to let people change. I believe that there is more danger in the drama of things. It gives the problem too much power…if a problem even exists.

The drama of addiction adds so much work to the troubles we already have!

So here’s the deal:

I get to be the judge of my progress. Nobody else gets to tell me whether or not I’m doing better. I know in my heart and clear mind where I am with my gambling. I am at a point where I realize what is happening when I do play. The cravings are 95% gone. I understand my limits. I remember where I have been. I know I’m not going back to that place and that it’s time for forward growth.

I choose to feel secure knowing that they just don’t understand…yet. It opens up some great conversations and helps me understand myself at an even deeper level.

I am grateful for the questions. My friends have my best interests in mind. They come from a place of love and curiosity. Any defense I have comes from a place of guilt and shame. I am working on remembering that everyone has their issues. Mine just happened to be gambling. We are equals in life and it’s my job now to help them understand.

Ask away. I’ve got this.

P.S. I’d love to hear your experiences if you’d like to share!