First Month Complete
Barely got out of bed today. Worked from home. Felt like crap.
I know I have some PMS issues. That's part of it.
But the other part of it is half exasperation and half missing the rush. It's like, part of me is exasperated because I can't believe I ever spent tens of thousands of dollars and 20-40 hours per week playing games. Actually, technically, paying to play games. Like, WTF! And then, paradoxically, another part of me is just still grieving it. Like, if someone offered me $1,000 today, I would seriously consider driving out-of-state (where I am not self-banned) to play craps with it.
It's almost laughable. It's like I'm sick in the head. But that's the thing: It's the addiction. It's not me.
I have moments, like now, when I doubt this will ever get easier. I think about the life I want to have personally and professionally, and yet the gambling looms like a dark cloud over it. I don't know if I can rise above it for a lifetime. When I think about some of the more challenging things I will have to do or overcome in my lifetime -- and that's just the stuff I know about -- I'm not sure if I'm strong enough to do it without gambling as a crutch. It was my panacea before a party. It was my relief after a hard day at work. It was my revenge when someone made me angry. It was my way to deal with the unpleasantries of life.
And now what?!
I know I gambled because, deep down, I felt like nothing. I used to feel like I needed to prove myself in the eyes of the world. As stupid as that sounds, it was true. And now I'm realizing what it is like to be a person who is not solely defined by income or achievement or revenue or numbers. Stupid numbers. Why do we let numbers define us? Weight, height, IQ, waist circumference, blood pressure, revenue of your business, personal income, age. It's all a bunch of bullshit. I know 35-year-olds who look 50 and 35-year-olds who look 25. I know people who make $300K per year who are amazing and people who make $300K per year who are assholes. None of these numbers define anything of true value, meaning, or worth.
I'm giving myself until August 4 to recover completely. As in, taking time away from work when I need to. Making myself and my recovery my first priority. Really for the first time in my life, making something other than my career my priority. That part of it feels enlightening.
Sometimes I sit and look out at the city and think of a building with my company's name on it. That will happen someday. I just know it, whether it is this company or the next one. I think of the man I am to marry, the children we will have. The life and the family. It will be delightful! But then I think, God, how could I achieve something like that with gambling hanging over my head? I was in a baseball stadium today, looking out over the city, and I saw all of the things I never noticed while I was in a gambling state of mind: The boats. The river. The buildings. The cars. The children. The trees. Beautiful, beautiful things. And I was missing them all...for a game?
It's like half shame/disbelief and half, OMG, I actually think I want to go back. A very strange dichotomy.
I hope the urge to go back leaves. I wish I would've self-banned for life instead of a year. But, it is what it is. And I have 11 more 30-day periods to get through before that's a concern, anyway.
I know I have some PMS issues. That's part of it.
But the other part of it is half exasperation and half missing the rush. It's like, part of me is exasperated because I can't believe I ever spent tens of thousands of dollars and 20-40 hours per week playing games. Actually, technically, paying to play games. Like, WTF! And then, paradoxically, another part of me is just still grieving it. Like, if someone offered me $1,000 today, I would seriously consider driving out-of-state (where I am not self-banned) to play craps with it.
It's almost laughable. It's like I'm sick in the head. But that's the thing: It's the addiction. It's not me.
I have moments, like now, when I doubt this will ever get easier. I think about the life I want to have personally and professionally, and yet the gambling looms like a dark cloud over it. I don't know if I can rise above it for a lifetime. When I think about some of the more challenging things I will have to do or overcome in my lifetime -- and that's just the stuff I know about -- I'm not sure if I'm strong enough to do it without gambling as a crutch. It was my panacea before a party. It was my relief after a hard day at work. It was my revenge when someone made me angry. It was my way to deal with the unpleasantries of life.
And now what?!
I know I gambled because, deep down, I felt like nothing. I used to feel like I needed to prove myself in the eyes of the world. As stupid as that sounds, it was true. And now I'm realizing what it is like to be a person who is not solely defined by income or achievement or revenue or numbers. Stupid numbers. Why do we let numbers define us? Weight, height, IQ, waist circumference, blood pressure, revenue of your business, personal income, age. It's all a bunch of bullshit. I know 35-year-olds who look 50 and 35-year-olds who look 25. I know people who make $300K per year who are amazing and people who make $300K per year who are assholes. None of these numbers define anything of true value, meaning, or worth.
I'm giving myself until August 4 to recover completely. As in, taking time away from work when I need to. Making myself and my recovery my first priority. Really for the first time in my life, making something other than my career my priority. That part of it feels enlightening.
Sometimes I sit and look out at the city and think of a building with my company's name on it. That will happen someday. I just know it, whether it is this company or the next one. I think of the man I am to marry, the children we will have. The life and the family. It will be delightful! But then I think, God, how could I achieve something like that with gambling hanging over my head? I was in a baseball stadium today, looking out over the city, and I saw all of the things I never noticed while I was in a gambling state of mind: The boats. The river. The buildings. The cars. The children. The trees. Beautiful, beautiful things. And I was missing them all...for a game?
It's like half shame/disbelief and half, OMG, I actually think I want to go back. A very strange dichotomy.
I hope the urge to go back leaves. I wish I would've self-banned for life instead of a year. But, it is what it is. And I have 11 more 30-day periods to get through before that's a concern, anyway.
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