Thinking I was different justified my addiction

Hi all, I have written this post on my Substack but thought I’d share here too! Hope you enjoy, it’s a bit of a read! 

The separation of oneself from the connections of people and the norms of society indulges the belief that addiction is merely a necessary byproduct of a difficult situation. It’s likely an addict feels that, in their isolation, there is no one who truly understands them or the way that their brain works. For me, in the heat of my addiction to gambling, the feeling of independence and individuality was palpably one of the reasons I carried on betting.

My upbringing was different to almost all the kids I mixed with growing up. My mother passed away when I was going into my first year of primary school, and pretty soon after I felt like the odd one out. I remember being absolutely aware my mother wasn’t coming back, and the naive stoicism of childhood helped me go on as if nothing was that abnormal. Yet, even at such a young age, the mind senses something is amiss; other people know you’re not the same, and you feel it viscerally.

We moved around a fair bit in my younger years, then going into high school provided a fresh start, in theory, I was now no different than anybody else. There was occasional awkwardness when friends and teachers alike asked about my mum. I got quite good at not disclosing the fact she was dead, at that time it was easier to blend in than to be different. I tried so hard to fit in, I was really good at merging in with the surroundings and not attracting any attention. Often I worried I was a boring kid with no personality for his own, upon reflection I think I just buried my pain in conformity, fearing people would find my true self miserable.

Starting a degree brought a plethora of anxieties to the surface. I was the first person in my family to go to University and I felt proud, yet I didn’t feel worthy of such responsibility and plaudit. Self doubt was always a huge part of my growing up and it would follow me haltingly to the day of writing this piece. In a time where I misunderstood myself so heavily, becoming of legal age to drink and gamble was a timely escape from such introspection.

I gambled sporadically in my first year of study before it took over my life from my second year onwards. I managed to graduate and function in my job thereafter, albeit never truly taking time to discover who I was or where I wanted to go. I settled into a job I was doing before I got my degree, so in a sense I thought it was all for nothing. In truth I didn’t care, I lived for the money at the end of the month, I’d feed my impulses for a week (if I was lucky maybe even a fortnight), then once I’d gambled it away, I would survive on pennies until the next payday.

I could not escape from the notion that my situation was completely unique. My exterior always remained unexceptional and I conspired to give this very impression. No one knew I was living an unsustainable double life that was spiralling out of control. Inwardly I would indulge the idea that by being this degenerately different, I would eventually reap the rewards of a life-changing win. Within the absurd lifestyle of deceit and increased financial ruination, there were moments of clarity. I considered a life without gambling and just couldn’t face the fact that if I stopped, I’d be like every other person who gave up.

A huge part of the journey of stopping, for me at least, was accepting that my situation was not only redeemable, but not that original. Around 6 months prior to the day of my last wager, I picked up Fyodor Dostoevsky’s The Gambler. This short novel revolves around the life experiences, gambling, and guilt of the writer, through his character Alexei Ivanovich. In reading this piece, I resonated with the hopelessness of the protagonist’s pursuit of wealth through playing roulette. Although I rarely played the game myself, I saw the opportunity roulette provided for someone to work their way up the ranks of social class in the 1800s. How was this really any different to why I placed 7-fold horse racing accumulators on a Wednesday afternoon?

Dostoevsky, in his ponderous existentialism, had unlocked a feeling inside me that was incongruous to the idea that I could make it out of the other side of gambling. It spread like a disease in my mind, with every lost bet and moment of financial despair, I was constantly reminded that I was just as delusional as the next gambler. There was still an issue with stopping completely; how do you go from unlimited amounts of opportunity to no hope whatsoever? My impulses fought back, convincing me that becoming gamble free meant I lost any chance of changing my life. I was different, all of my life’s woes had led me to this situation, if I didn’t continue what was I but a shadow in a fading sun?

This is where acceptance came in. Making peace with not only the extent of the addiction and the financial consequences, but also knowing I’d have to begin the grieving process as it came to an end. I accepted that I wouldn’t win big. I accepted that I’d wasted years of my life chasing an unattainable dream. I accepted that I’d neglected my relationships, friendships, family, health, dreams; everything that made me my true self. I was completely lost.

Cut to the present, and I am a working progress. There’s been some incredibly low moments, perhaps a delayed symptom of the depression I’d hidden from. The highs never reach the feeling of jubilation that winning a bet induced, but that’s ok, I’ve made peace with that. What I’m learning is that as I sit here now, I am my own person, who isn’t enslaved by their compulsions. I am not defined by my addiction, yet it is part of me, it’s what makes me different. The fact I lived for 10 years, gambling but existing, maintaining a modicum of normality in their life; I am a survivor. Surviving is often boring, I’m learning to accept that. There’s no glory in paying your bills on time, or paying for groceries with money you actually have, but I’m learning to find joy in it.

My experiences with addiction are not unique. In the months of sobriety I have shared parts of my life with people who genuinely understand what it is like. Although I’m an introvert and someone who considers their individuality a facet of their personality, what I’m beginning to see is that I’ve always hidden who it is that I think I am. Now it’s time to admit that I’m affected by my childhood. I am anxious. I am insecure. I do have depressive tendencies. I am grieving the loss of my mother. I don’t know exactly who I want to be.

It is liberating to understand that, although I have always tried to fit in, I am a person that even those closest to me don’t know anything about. Instead of hiding away in the guise of normality and stability, I can be more vulnerable and have my own perspectives on things. Leaving gambling behind means that I, with all my imperfections, can finally discover who it is that I am. The difficulties in my life do not justify losing more of my soul to an addiction, I see that now. Some people are just more susceptible to losing themselves to addiction. My misunderstanding of self means I’ve built up this idea of being different, when in fact I could have all the same emotions as someone else. If I’ve managed to hide this addiction from people around me, what have they hidden from me? Grief, childhood trauma, anxieties, I have no idea what anyone else is going through. I am equally as ignorant as the next person.

I am just a human being. I am exceptionally human just like everyone else, and in humanity there is individuality. The overwhelming need to conform, as well as creating a unique experience on Earth is part of the existential challenge. In gambling addiction I found a way out, and in choosing to overcome my addiction, I am crafting a way out for myself. As Dostoevsky writes, “What am I now? Zero. What may I be tomorrow? Tomorrow I may rise from the dead and begin to live again! There are still the makings of a man in me.”