My Addiction Is Just Fixation

Most nights, I cried for ages before going to bed, I remember a moment when I was wearing earphones; it was the second week of not gambling. My kids were watching TV. I couldn’t get the thought out of my head; I just could not stop thinking about how much easier it would be to quit: to either give in and gamble or just …end my life. Would it be easier on the kids? I knew one day I would fall. Then what? How bad would the addiction be after years of suppressing it?

I remember the song that started to play; one I had not really listened to before. The lyrics and everything about it somehow made me realise I was not the only one feeling like this. Crawling by Linkin Park was a song that I kept on replay that whole day. I listened to it over and over. Each time it replayed, I felt slightly better; I don’t know how, but I did. That visit to the doctor had pushed me into thinking there was no point anymore. The doctor laughed and didn’t care. Was I just weak and needed to control myself? Next week was the same. I listened to the song, and somehow it gave me comfort. I just don’t understand how but it did.

I went back to the doctor’s office this same week. It was a different experience but still unpleasant. I remember explaining everything to the doctor: my fear of drugs -even medicine; how I wasn’t living and how I was, in a way barely surviving. I was given information to register for a mental health service online. I remember doing it, but to me, it wasn’t helpful. It offered online support, and I didn’t want to be online, trying to fix my mental health. I could be online to socialise but being online only to do quizzes about how I feel or how bad my mental health and anxiety were, certainly didn’t help. Those quizzes made me think about my mental health and ended up pushing me into a bad place.

While I was online, the quizzes pushed me into thinking about everything. Hence, my mind instantly went back to gambling, I immediately began to think about gambling again: which sites are there that I could still register and play at? Every time I tried to do the online therapy, I felt pushed back to gambling; pushed back into remembering everything, and letting the thoughts in. Being online and delving into my memories of my gambling addiction online was not good for me. It would be like sending alcoholics to a pub so they could explain how they have been feeling or whether they have been mentally pushed; explain their feelings that day; or to answer, on a scale of one to five how bad they feel. Even though I was not on a gambling website, I was still online, which made me continuously think about opening a new tab and just gambling.

I would have had the thoughts without being online, but the fact that I was browsing the internet, was a significant trigger for me. So, I quickly gave up on the quizzes. I knew they would not help me, and everyone I spoke to, said it was almost impossible to get any support for mental health that was not online-based. I took comfort in Linkin Park’s song Crawling. I remember in that week, at some point, I was sitting there and shaking my head, thinking: “what am I doing?” I had lied to the landlord and said there was a mix up with the money and due to how bad my anxiety was, I ignored the door when he came looking for me.

My twins’ 6th birthday was about to happen. As I tried saving any penny I could to try to make up the rent, I realised their birthday would not be anything good. Fortunately, I was lucky enough. A few amazing women sent them a few presents, so they had something to open. I vowed at that moment that when I could, I would pay it forward, maybe not to those people but someone else who needed help and support. I was amazed and grateful for their support.

However, the month after those first two weeks, I fooled myself again. I pushed and pushed myself into running an online business; into building a network and trying to be normal. I hated every second of it. I tried, and I tried, but nothing seemed right. I hated everything, but I kept going. I thought to myself: “I can do it, I can do better”. I had somehow lost all my passion. I loved networking and working online, but even that didn’t seem to give me comfort. There was no passion in it anymore, which made it impossible to do. However, I needed money, so I kept trying.

I was living in a fantasy land, one that I couldn’t seem to escape easily. I had swapped my gambling addiction for something that wasn’t real. I had joined an online company, known as an MLM, or a network marketing company. I had success with them in the past, but, at that moment, I was failing. Everything I tried, I failed and there was no love or passion for any of it anymore. When talking to other people, I felt like they knew my heart was not in it, but I was still there trying and making my life better, although not because I believed in it.

March came, and I was able to send the landlord this months’ rent. However, it was useless as I still had not managed to save enough to pay for the month I owed. I was given an eviction letter. Well, it was actually posted since I was still so mentally unstable that I could not face answering the door -and facing people-. I knew at that moment I had ruined everything. It was over a month since I gambled and I was failing at everything, at least that is how it felt to me.

I was at rock bottom. My business was dead because I had lost all control while I gambled and did little or no work. I had no money, and for someone like me who had always ensured there was enough money in the bank every week, it was an awful feeling. I had lost my love for everything. There was nothing I enjoyed, I tried pushing myself into the company I was with, but there was nothing. Nothing triggered any feelings in me, and it made it impossible for me to feel motivated.

My youngest daughter’s third birthday was in March as well, and I could not feel happy and celebrate it though. I had just made us all homeless. My fight to try sort things out and make it up to the kids led me on a wild goose chase going in circles. I was that mentally unstable. I believed everything and anything everyone would tell me. I also thought I could succeed in a business because I had a reason to want and need to. However, it wasn’t true. At that moment, I could not succeed in anything that I didn’t have passion in as nothing kept my interest. I felt like I needed to gamble, just so I would feel a bit of passion, happiness, and love. I loved gambling. I mean, I hated it and it was toxic but, it was something, and right then I needed that something to make me feel alive and like I had something I enjoyed in life.

My life was very much at home again. I would find excuses to go to the bigger shops just so I could get out and walk. March was the month I went to my nana’s grave. I remember that visit well.

That morning I had dropped the kids at school and nursery and took two busses there. It was something different and, in the midst of all the mayhem of life, I had struggled to find time to go.

Being there helped. My nana was someone I spent a lot of time with when I was younger. I stayed with her a lot, and she was someone I had always gone to for support or advice as a kid. Unfortunately, she passed away before my first son was born. So, one of the most important people I would have spoken to through my addiction was gone.

May was here. I was still doing the same thing; still trying to succeed in a business that was not serving me. In so many ways, it did not help me but at the same time, it helped me in others. I did not make money or succeed in anything. However, the friendships I built online were immense; I actually I still talk to some of those people. I cherish those friendships and for this reason, I will not hate the work I put in during those months. While I wasted many months chasing an impossible dream, I no longer felt alone or isolated. I still didn’t feel right though. I never felt truly free of anxiety and depression. My trichotillomania was still out of control, and my hair was a disaster.

I then had the struggle of housing. I had five kids and would soon have nowhere to live with them. On speaking to the council, I was told they would not rehome until I was physically evicted. So, while I had to be out by the end of June, if I actually walked out, I wouldn’t be helped with a house as I would be making myself homeless as it hadn’t gone to court and pushed me out.

I was told I had to stay there until the landlord went to court and got an order out and I would literally be forced out by the bailiffs. There would be no date given or warning. Only when that moment comes, they would they actually rehouse me through an emergency accommodation: a one-bedroom flat, a hotel room, or a hostel.

The thought of that made my anxiety go overboard. I knew there was no way the landlord would just sit and wait. I knew he would be at the house every day trying to get in. I knew that my mental health would not cope with that and that the day I would be told I had an hour to grab my things would not go well. I then got a letter saying they had cancelled my claim. I would no longer get the amount of rent the council had helped me with. I was lost, I was being evicted. They wanted me to stay there until the last moment but were no longer willing to help me pay the rent.

I kept trying to find another way, anyway other than been left living there without a way to pay rent to feel better, although everybody gave me the same response. While the landlord was always knocking, continually calling and messaging, I no longer answered the door to anyone. I would go outside to take the trash out, watch for every car and be ready to run back in the house at any minute. One good thing about the stress of facing the fact of not having nowhere to live was that I did not have time to consider gambling. I spent hours searching for houses and for ways around the rule of I had to stay until I was forced out by the courts.

At the beginning of June, I called the housing again, but rather than asking to know whether leaving would stop me from getting housing, I changed the story. I asked what would happen if I moved into my dad’s house -which made it severely overcrowded and not a permanent place- Would it change things? Since I would still be homeless, I would just be moving to another place. I mentioned that they expected me to stay in a house after the notice of eviction, but the fact that they sent that notice of eviction made them stopped paying their part of the rent. So, they expected me to stay but also stopped paying the rent?

I was given an answer that saved me so much stress and so many breakdowns. Since I was going to live in an overcrowded house – which was not intended- would be seen as if I was living in temporary accommodation but still homeless. Had I just left on the date stated on the eviction they would not have helped, not even with an emergency accommodation as I would have left willingly knowing I had nowhere to go. The law states that the landlord cannot throw me out without going through courts.

I had caused enough damage. I didn’t want the landlord to spend extreme amounts of money in court just to have my physically removed, while not getting rent because they had cancelled it as well. So, I felt a huge relief and a burden being lifted off me. I then started packing. I knew that the quicker I left the house, the better it would be for me because the longer I was there, the worse my anxiety got.

I was beginning to feel isolated again because I was too scared to go outside in case the landlord drove by or pulled up as I was on my way out. I was back to needing something to hide the feelings. Once again, gambling was there. The thought of just doing it once to help myself and ease my issues was haunting me again, even though I knew it was insane to think about it. I knew it would not just be one time. I knew I would not be putting £10-£20 online and then walking away. No, I would stay until my bank hit zero again.

My mind then went to that guy I had mentioned before, the one who reached out to offer me support right at the start, the one who had beaten his addiction but was gambling, using bitcoin and such. My mind was telling me: “if he really had a gambling addiction and could do things considered as gambling, why can’t I?” Why can’t I gamble just once and stop the torment and get that small relief out in my mind? If he could, why could I not? I am glad I didn’t listen to my mind; that just shows how dangerous it is. Isn’t it bad to tell someone who has just stopped their addiction that he/she still have an addiction but is fine? Only to see him/her do it again?

I remember sitting and considering everything: what if I didn’t gamble how I used to? I never found the lottery appealing, but maybe putting the lottery on would be a way to gamble without falling into the trap? I knew it was foolish, which is why I did not do it. I would put the lottery on and likely buy a scratch card and then go home and gamble online. I realised there was so much I would not be able to do anymore.

During those first months, I noticed that social media can either break your addiction or create it. While I fought every day not to gamble, I was getting added to and tagged in raffle groups all the time. I was being tagged in posts related to bitcoin trading, the stock market and lottery. It was as if, out of nowhere, everything was surrounding me. Things I had dismissed before now were there and looked appealing. However, at the same time, I knew it was foolish to think I could do it and walk away with money in my hand. I was in no place to do anything that resembled gambling at that moment. I knew it would be my downfall and my way back to the gambling websites.

I quickly realised how little friends were real friends when I asked them to stop adding me to their groups with raffles. I got abuse, I got called names, I was unfriended and complained at like I was the problem. Some of them were fine, others were not. When I tried telling people that they should not just add people battling gambling addictions to raffle groups as they are making it worse, I got screamed at. I would then explain that they were adding strangers and any of those strangers could work for a government company. I also reminded them that raffles through Facebook were not allowed. I still got abuse.

I continued to just try ignoring the feelings and my mind telling me to gamble. I thought that if I just ignore them that would make them stop. Sure, they did, every now and then they would disappear. I would wake up and not think of gambling, but I never went a full day without considering it. I was still living in a bubble where everything was going great, I was succeeding in beating the addiction, getting better with my mental health and working towards a career goal I wanted.

Let me rephrase that. It was not a career goal I wanted; it was one I needed. I needed a career that did not stop me from earning money. Running my own business before my addiction meant I had high expenditure and wouldn’t make money as easily. Hence, the quick fix readymade business that was a network marketing company seemed ideal, but it wasn’t.

Haircut

My trichotillomania was so bad I had to have my hair cut. This was a disaster and pushed me mentally. The style I wanted was short, it was not so much the style I wanted but needed to remove the damaged hair. The woman came out, she seemed lovely and cut all the girls hair, I decided if I was having my hair cut, the girls were entitled to choosing their own hairstyles, within reason. By the time the hairdresser had finished doing my style, I had a guys’ haircut: a wonky fringe and I hated it. She had not done it anything like the style I had chosen, those with the long fringes, that go to the side, short hair that can be spiked up or flat. My hair while she had not shaved it, was that short from been cut. My fringe was way too high and honestly looked like the kids had cut it. I had been wearing a hat all the time to try to stop myself from ruining my hair. I had to wear in the summer because my hair was so bad even those passing by noticed.

The haircut was meant to help me, but it did not. It pushed me into a place of self-hate again; to a place where I was feeling like crap because I once again had to go out in a hat -that is how bad my hair looked-. Hate for myself before I didn’t tell her. I didn’t complain and say, you messed up my hair, or pointing out my hair was nothing like the style at all. So the hate for myself grew, why could I not just find it within me to confront people? Tell them the truth and how I feel, even if it is telling them that they messed up my hair and I would not pay.

Moving

On June the 12th, 2017, I moved from one area of Leeds to another. I was back at the place I had lived in from thirteen to seventeen years old. Me and all five kids moved into my dad’s three-bedroom house with him and my little brother. This was my rock bottom, in terms of life. I never wanted to be back home. I wanted to stay independent and have my life. I liked my space, I liked the quietness and in a way, isolation.

My mind had got so used to me living alone with five kids and seeing family once every few months -living in a house where the family were visiting frequently did crazy things to my anxiety-. I felt like I had failed my children, failed everyone, and that I was still drowning on the inside under my mental health. All I could do, though, was put a smile on my face. There were no good or bad days because every day was a bad day. All I wanted to do was gamble or give up on my life. All I could see though, was my children looking at me for direction even when I was practically crawling on my knees calling out for help -but silently in my mind-. Asking for help was never my thing. When people would ask me how I was, they always got the same response.

I was never a person who would talk openly about how I feel, about my life, my demons and things that haunted my dreams. I craved it though, I craved to be able to talk like so many others do. Yet, when I tried, it was like my tongue was stitched down and my lips glued together. My body was screaming to let everything out and speak yet my mind, and the anxiety feared talking so locked me down. I had always feared talking or opening up about things and issues. I dealt with everything through fear of rejection and that I would cause an argument or a fight. So, changing it was not easy.

Talking to the doctor was a huge step for me after telling everyone about the addiction. Yet it felt almost useless and a waste of my mental health at that time. Pushing myself into telling them all my problems and how bad I felt, made me feel worse, in addition to the outcome of getting no help. The doctors' response just made me shield away more. However, if someone asked, I would say “I was okay, I was fine, I was good, everything was amazing…”

I was good at the act, at playing that person who looked so happy and amazing, hell my Facebook was one place that sometimes I would slip and tell the truth. I would put a post saying how bad that day was, have my rant to them and then go on like everything was fine again. I didn’t notice then though, but the act of not talking would slowly kill me more and push me back to gambling. I had done it my whole life, so why not just carry on?

So, there I was with my five kids, living with my dad and little brother. There was one room with a double bed and two mattresses on the floor in another room. My son, of course, had his own mattress. I shared either a bed or mattress with my youngest and second youngest children since the twins shared their own bed.

Everything had changed. I had lost my routine and the freedom to do what I wanted. In terms of safety, I never felt as safe as I thought I would be after moving out of that house. I just swapped one circumstance for another.

So, I still struggled with my anxiety. I had not thought about how it would feel to no longer live alone; to have no routine, and to people coming and going daily when I had pretty much been a ghost for years.

The kids were disrupted and didn’t seem to settle. Most nights they wouldn’t sleep until late. Even with them going to the new school night times were never easy. It was like they were on holiday almost, their minds not switching off so often stayed up longer than they used to. It felt strange. I had got used to my kids going to bed for half six and being asleep by seven or half seven. Everything had changed and thrown my world off-balance. I had got used to the evenings being my time, but there was no me time anymore. While they were at school, it was the same, I was used to having the house to myself, and it never was.

However, I was also still doing that business that I thought would help me make money. Even though I began to see changes, I realised I was at rock bottom, and my mental health was still bad. If I let it continue, I wouldn’t survive.

I started going to the gym while the kids were at school. Doing that made me feel better. I was eating healthier and I actually began to look like a “person” again. The difference between how I looked when I was gambling to when I became active after having stopped gambling was drastic. I began to look like someone who was “alive” again. I thought I was in control; I thought I was succeeding… and I was. However, all it would take was one thing and everything would come crashing down… and it did, it was coming at that moment, I just didn’t know it.

I kept going; I kept going to the gym and eating healthy. I would take the kids out on long walks. I would go out shopping. I actually got myself a Fitbit to help me keep active and feel better. I did; it is not a lie. My mental health did feel better, but the thought of gambling was still there, although in a different form.

If I gambled uncontrollably because of the state of my mental health, would I be okay now? I mean, I wasn’t crazy or drowning in a bad mental health state so could I gamble and walk away? However, one thought I always had which pushed me into a bad mental place was that no one cared.

Everyone forgot

I had realised that everyone had almost forgotten. No one mentioned to me my addiction. No one was asking how I was doing or how the “no gambling” was going. That is something that again, made me feel like I had the wrong addiction -or that it was just me- because if I had a different addiction, they would be more active and behind me all the time. Actually, this feeling has always plagued me and always will: to some people, my addiction is nothing more than a fixation. Perhaps, they would have cared more if they knew my addiction had almost pushed me to death and that is was not easy to overcome just like all other addictions… maybe, they would have cared more. This would be one of the thoughts that were the cause of my downfall that was to come. The world makes you look and see people as supportive. “Well done on getting to six weeks without drinking.” “Well done on making it to three months without touching a drop.” I never truly got that support. I would put a post on Facebook and mention something like one month gamble free. Some friends on Facebook, that I do not know in person would congratulate me, but no one I knew in person. Then, as the months passed and a year hit, I found the most support and congratulations came from those Facebook support groups. As one year turns to two and so on, the number of people saying well done, dropped. Which is crazy, right? I have seen it myself, those who drink or do drugs and got addicted. I saw those people around them congratulate them on a day, a week, two weeks, a month, constantly reassuring them they are doing amazing. Pushing them to keep going, I didn’t have that, not in life, I had it from a support group full of people I didn’t know. A lot of people I noticed on my Facebook, would say Congratulations, but it was almost as if they felt they had to. I noticed that many who said congratulations, disappeared from my life until they wanted or needed something, then they would pop back up, and not even mention my addiction. This was something else that pushed me, people never contacted me, never rang and spoke to me, never messaged asking how I was or the kids, but they were quick to message or call asking for advice on what they needed, or when they needed something. This still happens now.

Living with my dad

So, I lived with my dad from June the 12th to September the 11th. Those three months felt like they lasted longer. During that period, I never had time to really think. Not about gambling though. It was kind of hard to think about anything when there are people there constantly. That led me to think that I was fine. The kids seemed to settled into school and enjoyed being around family who we hardly ever saw before. I missed my own space though. I missed the knowing I had the comfort of being alone. I do not mean being alone forever but being in my own house and knowing who to expect and when.

Those months living with my dad were unusual. While I fought to keep going, I smiled and acted fine, but in fact, I was struggling. All I wanted to do really was stay in bed and just let the world pass me by. I couldn’t though, so I kept getting up and pushing forward. I kept going to the gym, going for walks, even going shopping just to get out of the house and walk.

During those months, the kids saw their dad maybe twice because of the distance, and everything else. I found myself buying the kids things as a way to cheer them up and apologise for the mess I had created. I would laugh, and I honestly thought I was happy, although I really wasn’t. I kept fooling my mind into believing I was fine and that doing exercise was really “curing” me as the doctor had hinted it would.

I felt better now compared to the feeling I’d get after gambling. However, I was still in a bad shape. My mind just didn’t realise it

I had no real routine. I’d only set times to get up with the kids, take them and pick them up from school and get them in bed. I slowly noticed the kids also were affected. They were used to their old morning routines. Now they were spending a lot of time watching TV and other devices.

When living alone, they would spend most of their day playing with toys, but now, this seemed to disappear as they found themselves mostly watching TV or using a tablet because there was no space for toys really. No space for them to run around and play like they used to.

Getting a new house

I actually went to see a house on September the 5th. It was small for all of us but I could not refuse it. I needed my own space. I needed the time I used to have in the mornings before the kids woke up so I could relax and plan the day.

The kids also needed their routine back, as well as the quietness we used to have. They missed the ability to go to bed at seven and fall asleep without noise, people talking or doors opening and shutting. They had gone from a house with no noise at night when they were going to sleep, to a house where people were still visiting at eight, or nine o’clock. I didn’t realise then, but looking back that affected the kids. I loved living there but, at the same time, I missed and craved the freedom and space I have had since I was about eighteen. So, I agreed to take the house there; it was close to the kids’ primary school. The house was close to my son’s local high school, as well as to the bus stop should he need to take the bus.

I do not really like my new living room -even to this day- because when we want to add something to the room, we have to remove something. For instance, I recently needed a desk and to get it in, we had to remove a cabinet and fireplace. Then Christmas came, and we had to move the kids' drawers with their school stuff, and even more stuff out to fit in the Christmas tree this year! However, I cannot complain. It is small, lacks storage and space for five kids’ stuff but, it is peaceful most of the time, close to the school and family.

I remember moving into the house. The first night felt strange. I was uncomfortable, and my anxiety was awful when I was living with my dad because I had lost the space I was used to and everything I needed. However, I once again become uncomfortable in the new house. I got used to constant noise so, going to a house that was silent at night once again pushed my anxiety. Back to living alone meant I had more time to think about gambling.

So, to avoid it, I continued to go to the gym while the kids were at school. However, that stopped after a while, when one of my children got ill. I was taking care of my kid so I couldn’t go anymore, not even on the weekends. Everything changed again. I began slipping again, and once again the thoughts were right back there, constantly teasing and taunting me into gambling.

My eldest kid was acting up, fighting and hitting out at his sisters. He was refusing to do anything. Coming home from school he would cry about being bullied and being kicked in the back of the legs.

Everything was pulling me down. I remember once again, I was having those thoughts of gambling. With them, I had a feeling of weakness, of having no courage; I would wonder “why me?”.

I hated it. I hated the fact I felt so weak because I could not stop the thoughts of wanting to gamble just to try and balance out my mental health. If everyone was right and gambling was in fact just fixation then, why did it keep coming back? Why was I struggling so much to forget and move on? Why when I told myself no to gambling, did I feel like I was tearing myself apart? It was an addiction but no one saw it as one and nobody cared, which made me hate myself for believing it was in fact, an addiction.

I remember a week where I would basically never get out of bed. I could not find the strength to do anything. When I tried anything that happened tipped me over the edge making me want to gamble and it had me dangling on by a thread. I had gone right back to wanting to give up on life. I looked around me, at my kids and thought “what the hell?”

I thought they would be better without me, someone who was too weak to fight her own mind and addiction. I thought that they would be better off in care with some stranger than with me. I never wanted my kids to witness addictions, I never wanted them to witness abuse, fights, anything negative. I wanted them to grow up with a full mind, with a childhood that made them laugh and smile.

I had failed them. I remember sitting on the bed crying. I was crying and thinking: “why the hell am I still fighting? Why the hell am I still trying to succeed in life when it clearly just wants to kill me”.

For instance, I put up a Facebook post saying that I felt like giving up, or something along those lines. I remember all the usual replies: “you will be fine; just keep going”. None of it was a comfort and I did not even bother replying. I did not want to be told I was going to be fine! I wanted someone to say to me: “you’re not fine, scream, shout and cry until you feel better.”

I remember someone on Facebook messaged me. She asked if I was okay as my posts had seemed off for the last week and I had not replied to anyone on that post from today. I just put a shrug emoji because once again, opening up and talking made me feel weaker. At that moment feeling weaker wasn’t a good thing.

“I have been there myself, especially the last few weeks and can tell when someone is not them, and they really are ready to quit. You cannot be fake happy forever.” That is was she typed, and I still had no idea how to reply. I sat and cried, unsure of how to even start. Where to start? She replied maybe five minutes later with something like: “I like this song, you should listen to it. Really, listen to it because everyone at some point feels like we do.”

She sent me a video and it made laugh, not because it was funny, but because I do not believe in signs or at least I did not. Anyway, she sent me a video Linkin Park. It was not the song Crawling.

I had actually somehow lost and forgotten all about that song. In fact, I had not listened to music in months, other than at the gym which was typically music to keep you going at a high speed.

The video she sent was the song One More Light. I remember sitting and crying listening to it. I think it was maybe three weeks before someone I knew had taken their own life -that was the third person I had known who had taken their own life-.

The words really hit home, but not as much as her sending me yet another message with a picture of my kids, with the words “they care”.

I have to say this, the woman and I were not close friends. She was simply following my journey and selling for another MLM company. What amazed me was the fact that she had watched my Facebook for over a year and realised my posts seemed off and this made her realise I was struggling.

She took time to notice my downfall and reach out, really reach out without forcing me to talk, or telling me ‘You will be fine’ which we all know is no comfort. It was the poems I had put on my blog that made her realise I was on the edge.

I think I spoke to her once after, and I have not since. It made me believe people are meant to be in your lives briefly for a reason, some forever, some who will come and go. I realised that night I had to change everything. I had to find a way to deal with everything as I was pulling my kids down with me, and surely that would have an effect.

I remember thinking: “Screw it! I had an addiction I told the world and accepted their judging even if they did it silently”. I had lived with the judging of my addiction not being real, and that some have seen it as an overreaction.

In that moment, I accepted the backlash I would get from those around me. I had stood up to some of the people who laughed and said gambling addiction wasn’t a real addiction, and those who believed that addiction was not medical or mental and just representing someone who is too weak.