The chain reaction of going sober from gambling

Over the course of a 10 year battle with a gambling addiction, I never considered that I had compulsive tendencies relating to anything else. In the 7 months since I began my recovery, I’ve started to question my relationship with all the other components of my life.

I grew up as a relatively normal British teenager, I was drinking alcohol and going to parties when I was 14 years old. I smoked the odd cigarette, then I tried weed, when I was 18 I did some other drugs. I did know my limits but I pushed them, as most young people do. Binge drinking was, and still is, the most normalised form of spending your weekends as a young person in England. If you weren’t doing it, you didn’t quite fit in, and just about the only thing I wanted to achieve as a teenager was to fit in.

I played sports, chatted to girls (poorly), and had a rejection of schooling, I was really smashing it. However, in many ways I was a bit of a loner. I had social anxiety, which meant that I would turn up late to events, often missing them completely. When I did go to parties I’d get as drunk as I possibly could to make talking easier. This became a habit with drinking, and in many ways contributed to my eventual dislike of socialising all together. I was an incredibly awkward person underneath the facade of being a chill dude. The mix between being introverted and wanting so much to be liked put an awful lot of strain of my anxiety.

I had an amazing group of school friends, but when I went to University, they weren’t there. I went through the first few weeks, months even, engaging in binge drinking so not to be a loser who spent all his time in his room. Eventually, I found my people. You know the ones where you don’t ever have to small talk, you just know each other. The type of people who make you want to get dressed up and leave the house, and it’s never exhausting to speak to them. I didn’t have to be someone else around these people, therefore I didn’t need the binge drinking, the drugs, or anything else.

Having a small group of people who I truly liked spending time with was perfect for me. Yet, when the stresses of essay deadlines and exams kicked in, I slipped into bad habits and I didn’t see a lot of my friends.

The problem with being an introverted gambling addict is that you spend a lot of time in your own company, so people don’t see it as abnormal when you’re not there. When you don’t get called out, you think you’re not really doing anything wrong and you can continue down the path to destruction unchallenged.

As an introvert, gambling provided me with a way of occupying myself, it guided me through the boredom and the loneliness of being alone. Fast track 10 years to where I sit today, and I wonder what might hijack the void that gambling has left. I think back to the times I drank when I didn’t particularly want to, or when I took drugs just to fit in. Anything and everything I do now comes under this gloomy cloud of suspicion. If they are allowed to simply walk in, unchecked, they may take over as gambling once did.

Going sober doesn’t just make you feel stronger, it makes you incredibly aware of the things you do to hide. Sometimes the hiding away isn’t such a bad thing, like watching 9 episodes of Suits in one day, it’s just escapism and even Harvey Specter couldn’t find dirt on me for that, could he? Other times, it’s binge eating 3 chocolate bars, 4 bags of crisps and a packet a sweets. Both examples prove that I struggle to do things in half measures, and arguably both are as detrimental to my mental health.

So is it the root cause that needs unveiling to understand these compulsive tendencies? Or is it merely a case of having more self control?

Either way, I am stopping for reflection. In simply pausing and observing how I deal with stress, loneliness, fatigue, I am identifying possible problem areas. It doesn’t matter that I don’t have the answers yet, what’s most important is that I’m trying to be better.

My acknowledgment that alcohol could become an issue is potentially very important. I’d be a fool to ignore such a wide array of resources and stories here on Substack which warn of the dangers of alcoholism. Although I think I’m in control, I have to question at what point in my life as a gambler I still thought I was in control when I really wasn’t.

It seems that with every month that goes by in recovery, there is a feeling that hits far harder than its predecessor. This one is of skepticism, where every decision I make is scrutinised based on whether it’s something I actually want, and also if it’s something that brings value to my life. I’m regaining control, and in doing so I’m questioning the processes of the mess the previous guy left behind.

In going sober, I have also found a perseverance in staying true to myself. This relates to many of the insecurities and anxieties that I had when I was a teenager. I always had a dislike for small talk, and socialising for the sake of keeping up appearances. So now, I don’t agree to the social events I have no wish to attend. I worry less about how people perceive me, and feel less pressure to conform to people’s idea of who they think I am.

I often wonder how I went years of my life hiding away behind an idea of myself. An idea that I was a social person who liked to do things like go out drinking and go on coffee dates. I enjoy these things with the right people but I have to be honest for once and say that more often than not these things are anxiety inducing.

Going sober from gambling is the start. It’s taught me that I can cut out something that isn’t any good for my life. So now nothing is safe and I am monitoring all of those indulgences which have the potential to become addictions.

I started gambling when I was 18, I stopped when I was 28. So now I’m discovering things about myself that I couldn’t comprehend at that tender age, before I hid away from the answers. It’s both a scary and exciting time to be alive, and I can’t wait to find out more about Ed.

Ed’s Gambling Journey on Substack. (My page)