πŸ’° Online Blackjack cost me Β£20k in 24 hour binge | Gambling Therapy

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And among the charms of the betting shop, blackjack has the greatest appeal. This has something to do, I assume, with the structure of the game.


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blackjack gambling problem

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Having a gambling addiction can be a very scary proposition. Gambling Over the past year, I have lost $30, at various casinos playing Blackjack. Best part​.


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blackjack gambling problem

B6655644
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And among the charms of the betting shop, blackjack has the greatest appeal. This has something to do, I assume, with the structure of the game.


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blackjack gambling problem

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Having a gambling addiction can be a very scary proposition. Gambling Over the past year, I have lost $30, at various casinos playing Blackjack. Best part​.


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blackjack gambling problem

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I remember the first trip to the casino, I actually lost my $ in about 15 minutes playing blackjack, which should've discouraged me from setting foot in a casino.


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blackjack gambling problem

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I remember the first trip to the casino, I actually lost my $ in about 15 minutes playing blackjack, which should've discouraged me from setting foot in a casino.


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I remember the first trip to the casino, I actually lost my $ in about 15 minutes playing blackjack, which should've discouraged me from setting foot in a casino.


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She played blackjack almost exclusively, often risking thousands of Now researchers agree that in some cases gambling is a true addiction.


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The DSM-V recently re-classified gambling addiction from being a $1, a week and going to Atlantic city playing blackjack,” he says.


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This is how you avoid them – the safest bet in town. The diagnosis. The chips are down. β€œYou can't smell online blackjack on somebody's breath,”.


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blackjack gambling problem

Hard to retain much self-respect after that. Well, clearly because I'm a schmuck, but that's not what I mean; I mean biographically speaking …. The tax revenues from the big gaming companies help build schools and hospitals, pay for teachers, doctors and nurses. Feeling a whole lot better, I reckoned I would just get a couple more hours' play in, take the tablet and turn in. Wherever I went β€” bathroom to wash, kitchen to make breakfast β€” they kept popping up. I remember sitting in the dark for half an hour with such joy and relief washing over me. I spent the day debating with myself whether or not I should try my luck and see what I could do with that 5k. This has something to do, I assume, with the structure of the game: the ability to stand or take another card creates an irresistible illusion of control. And among the charms of the betting shop, blackjack has the greatest appeal. It was seven for seven thirty, dress smart but "not too smart" I am not at the party however. Though, in this case, in return for the money you feed in, you mostly get nothing back. I went back to my laptop, put another 5k on and hit blackjack. Like all addictive activities, it offers astonishing highs β€” highs as high as the lows are low. You should not be doing this. No less pitiful, you might say, than an alcoholic outside the off licence at 9. Now, if all poker β€” all gambling games, in fact β€” are potentially addictive and obsessional, Texas Holdem is both of those things to the power of Being endowed with just the right, catastrophic psychic make-up, I was pretty soon hooked. After wishing my confrere an unacknowledged "Good luck", I make my way to a terminal and park my backside on the sticky black leather seat. It was then that I realised that the size of the bet didn't count for anything: I was just as desperate and sleazy as the rest of them. There is one other punter in the place β€” a nicotine-stained old guy in a raincoat who is operating a strange roulette system consisting of a plethora of tiny stakes that more or less cancel each another out. It began with evenings of spontaneous, anarchic, life-enhancing mayhem at his flat, escalating from there, by insidious steps, into a serious fortnightly home game complete with league table and annual trophy. I waited a quarter of an hour for a seat to come vacant. This was no vague optical effect, either, but a perfectly formed, shiny new king of hearts. I collapsed on the sofa, numb with joy, sandbagged by bliss. The feeling of triumph as I boarded a bus and headed for Hampstead where any betting shop manager worth his salt will, at my own request, eject me from the premises on sight was one that, to anybody who hasn't been there, might seem pathetic. During a lucky streak, for instance, I get a sense of quite astonishing and implausibly sustained wellbeing. Then one day I found myself in a Ladbrokes shop on a Saturday afternoon with every station occupied. At the time of writing I haven't gambled, in any shape or form, for several months. Suddenly, like young Stephen Dedalus in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man , as he walks down Lott's Lane in search of stimulus, then suddenly spins round and heads for home, I turned. I have lost, at a conservative estimate, a quarter of a million pounds over the past seven years. What harm could it do, now that I was cured? The fact that I went on to blow the lot in 10 minutes and was suicidal for a fortnight thereafter is another matter. It's the tackiness of the betting shop that, for me, puts it without peer as a means of wrecking your life. This is my usual garb β€” my uniform, if you will β€” when I visit my betting shop of choice in north London. Go home, switch off your computer, or better still, chuck it in the bin and take this pill and get some sleep. I have swallowed my pride, sought professional help, attended GA meetings. And I am once again remortgaged, for 30k this time. I even managed to convince myself that I was earning a living from the game. I was an addict by now, of course, and that kind of self-delusion is standard addict practice. If it didn't, who on earth would take it up in the first place? In the ambulance they informed me that I was having a massive atrial fibrillation, brought on by four days and nights without sleep, sprayed something on the roof of my mouth, and asked for my next of kin. There is nothing worse in this world than a sore loser, and nowhere is that more true than in gambling. Regaining a recent loss brings a special pleasure of its own, as any gambler will tell you: a weird, warped sense of redemption. Nor am I especially plagued when I remember that, but for gambling, I would now be living on a comfortable income from royalties scrimped and saved over 15 years of hard showbiz slog. For many years an old friend of mine and I have been devotees of poker. In the space of two minutes I had not merely quadrupled my 5k overdraft, but could now pay off my mortgage and be, once more, to some degree at least, a free man. The pull on me as I headed back toward the bus stop, and home, was astonishingly powerful. I do not complain about any of this β€” not the debt, the near-death experience, not even the huge and horribly dark spells of despair and self-loathing. What had I got to lose? But now he does it in different ways. The gambler in me is still looking to recoup, needless to say. I used to watch small-scale punters like this with contempt. There are likely to be nice people there, artistic, talented; and the hostess is a wizard cook. I couldn't keep this goldmine I'd hit on to myself. I dismissed this despite having once suffered from a bout of manic depression that included delusions as some sort of short-term optical glitch that was only to be expected in the circumstances, and soon hurried back to my laptop to resume playing. It's a truism to say that no very disastrous experience is without its compensatory positives β€” its winnings, in other words.{/INSERTKEYS}{/PARAGRAPH} So, why am I here? I started in a restrained way β€” five or six hours a day β€” maybe a bit more if I had no work on. Worse still, because of the peculiar nature of gambling addiction β€” many experts reckon it's the hardest of all addictions to cure β€” once it dawned on me that I was in fact losing, I figured the only way to recoup the money was to play more and then yet more. I called my GP, fixed an emergency appointment and got myself straight down there. I've gambled online, and in live casinos, but neither has the same, uniquely sordid appeal as the betting shop. Or, to put it another way, a greedy klutz wanting something for nothing. It wasn't even my money, but the bank's. The "fish" poker speak for bad players out there had to be seen to be believed. {PARAGRAPH}{INSERTKEYS}I t is nine o'clock on a Saturday night and I should be at an old friend's party. I was in there all the next day, my pulse returning to normal just 20 minutes before I was scheduled to be medically "rebooted". With roulette, you spin the wheel, and that's it; horses: once they're off, ditto. So I would find myself, at 9. I hit 20 with that hand, won, 20 with the next, won again, won again with the third bet. I announced arrogantly at dinner parties that I had discovered a new string to my bow, a sure-fire revenue stream. I found myself walking, like a zombie, towards the nearest of the outlets. That convinced me of the true nature of my predicament, though sadly it didn't do anything to curtail it. Nor is my dress remotely smart, consisting as it does of a fisherman's sweater, more holes than wool, and a pair of frayed tracksuit pants smelling faintly of urine. They were all over the walls, they were dangling from the curtains. As usual, the inner demons the shrinks, the addiction experts, call it this "permission thought" won the argument, and at midnight, came the start of a new hour period, which meant that I was allowed to deposit fresh funds. Unfortunately, I drifted off in the middle of a hand, without having taken the pill, and when I woke up a couple of hours later I was dying Well, perhaps not quite. Equally true, on the other hand, is an observation by Casanova, who had a sideline in gambling and noted that inside every serious gambler lurks a miser. Soon I was convinced I'd struck gold. All this makes gambling seem a dark and destructive business, and, of course, it can be. But that's pretty obviously not the whole story. It took many weeks of steady, daily losses before a nagging suspicion was born that something might be amiss. Then, around lunchtime, I was in the loo, when I looked down and saw that there was a playing card lying in the bottom of the bowl. She placed a large white tablet in my hand. The soulless strip lighting of the shop creates a curiously appealing, dismal ambience β€” a kind of physical equivalent to my own spiritual landscape. This is something, I tell myself. But the resentment doesn't last. The other day, for instance, as I approached Finchley Road, near where I live β€” a thoroughfare positively festooned with betting shops β€” I conceived a strong urge to have a flutter on the betting machines. But the demons were of the opinion that I shouldn't stop there. One day in February I asked the old pal in question if there was anywhere you could play Holdem online. That night I opened an account and began to play. But, yes, the highs. Here, at last, was the steady, reliable source of income I'd been dreaming of ever since giving up a well-paid job in the City to concentrate on, of all things, translating 17th-century French verse comedies. One time, after playing non-stop for three days, so that the index finger of my right hand had started to tingle from repeatedly clicking the mouse to bet on or fold a hand, I woke to find that somebody had broken into my flat during the night and festooned it with playing cards. He chortled and gave me the name of a "reputable" site. I do sometimes wonder quietly why walking down any major street in London has to be, for me and my fellow gambling addicts, rather like negotiating Scylla and Charybdis β€” Paddy Power or Betfred here, William Hill or Ladbrokes there. Whereas with blackjack, few things can match the adrenaline rush you get when that third card takes you to 20 or, incredibly, to If you're not familiar with gaming machines, they are, in appearance and construction, not unlike the automatic ticket vendors at railway stations.