5 Tips For a Gamble Free Christmas.

Well, we are nearing that time of the year already.

Again…

For Gamblers (and affected others) Christmas can be particularly tough. If you are worried about gambling over Christmas, here’s a few tips you might find helpful:

1) Plan for Payday: If you are working full-time, part-time or in receipt of benefits, you are probably going to be paid early over Christmas. This is likely to be more than you usually receive and on a day that’s unusual to you. Plan for this now! Consider asking someone you trust to help you with managing your money, if you are concerned about a gambling session on payday.

2) Keep to a routine: Hard these days, I know. Nothing seems to be certain. But with the ample time off many of us will have, try and either develop a routine tailored for the holidays; or make a conscious effort to stick to the routine you have. Boredom, over indulgence and too much time cooked up indoors can be factors and may lead to gambling binges.

3) Install a Gamble Block on your devices and/or Self Exclude from gambling: The sporting calendar is full on over Christmas, especially with football. If you know this is likely to be a trigger for you, get the blocks in. You should be able to get a free trial somewhere from one of the decent blocking apps, so no better time to use it than now.

4) Don’t pile pressure on yourself: Avoid overspending on gifts (especially if you can’t afford it…) or give yourself far too much to do. Slow down and try not to rush. Keep it simple! I understand that a lots of us won’t get to share this Christmas with the people they love and it’s not everyone’s favourite time of the year. Talk about it. Don’t repress your feelings. Gambling to escape isn’t the answer.

5) Put the phone down and laptop away: Listen, I’m not one to talk but you have to make an effort to take proper time off. Log out of Social Media, don’t check the scores constantly and leave/charge the phone in a different room. Make things a little less convenient. It does help, especially if you have someone around to hold you to account!

Folks, I hope you have a gamble and stress free Christmas. Have a good one and thank you for all of your support.

Darren.

The Cover all Bases Series #2: New Beginnings.

 

After years of procrastinating, months of saving, and dozens of sleepless nights, the time had finally come to leave Aberdeen to travel. It had been a long time coming and despite setbacks, I felt I was ready and I wanted it, so badly.

Despite their differences, my family had mustered a little gathering – Mum, Dad, both Grandmas and Granddad –  even though I had made it clear that I didn’t want a sending off at the airport  (my parents were going through a divorce and not on talking terms, and my grandmother from my mother’s side hadn’t spoken to my father in years.) I was a nervous wreck. This was an important moment in my life, but I hadn’t thought about just how significant it would be to them. They were proud and supportive, they would certainly miss me, and, of course, they wanted to say goodbye. The life that awaited me was within touching distance. My familiar life, for now, was set to disappear.

Scattered tactically around a restaurant table at the terminal, my family watched on as I sipped on a strong coffee, rifled frantically through my notes, and enjoyed the last Scottish breakfast I’d be eating for a while. I was very much being given room to breathe – something to which I had been missing for months prior. There followed careful conversation as my family remained focused on me and the impending trip. They tentatively judged and changed the pace depending on the ever-shifting vibe around the table in a concerted attempt to form a delicate environment for me to star in. But, in truth, I had said most of what I wanted to the weeks before, and was, surprisingly, doing a good enough job of keeping it together. I only wanted one person with me at the airport that day – my Grandad, a strong and wise and worldly man who gave countless pieces of good advice and was always generous with his words. When the time came to leave, he would know what to say, he would know how to act, and he would give me the added strength I needed.

The mood around the table changed as the time drew closer. I was suddenly bombarded with silly yet mandatory questioning: “Got your passport?” “Got everything you need?” “When does your flight get in?” “How are you getting to the hotel?” This unsettled me. I could feel my family becoming restless too as what little conversation there was descended into unsubstantiated ramblings.

I was flying to Heathrow and then onto a connecting flight to Beijing. I had been dreaming of this for a long time. I hated who I had become in Aberdeen – a gambler, a drunk, and the clichéd under-achiever. In the weeks before, I had my first real run in with online roulette, and had blown a chunk of my travel money. This put a huge downer on my preparation. Despite this, I still felt ready to leave – I had worked hard to escape; I was proud that I was finally broadening my horizons.

Soon my flight was called and it was time. As a family, we began to make the short walk to the gate. I walked ahead to buy some time as I couldn’t bear to look at my parents. This was going to hurt.

As expected, both my grandmothers were in tears, and, although there was no family protocol to saying goodbye, I turned to them first. They couldn’t be more different: a very Aberdonian grafter, with a love for whisky, bingo, and an incessant quest to cater for my vegetarian mother, despite not really knowing what a vegetarian is; a flamboyant, eccentric, animal-loving Jehovah from South Africa to whom there is never a dull moment in life. I loved them both equally.

I turned to my old man. I was dreading this. I harbour a lot of feelings on him (so much so, I’ve always struggle to say and even write the word ‘Dad’) and our relationship has been, and still is, strained. We are both scarily similar from the way we walk to the way we talk, to the jobs that we do. I see so much of myself in him, and he does in me. But we still find it incredibly hard to relate to one another. We moved in for an awkward hug. I would have welcomed us letting our guards down for just one moment but it wasn’t to be. Unfortunately, moments of true honesty, relaxed conversation and real bonding are few and far between. He loves me; I love him. Yet, something, nothing and everything prevents us from truly becoming close.

The relationship between my mother and I had also seen better days. The three of us had been living under the same roof since they announced they would be getting a divorce, but I couldn’t remember the last conversation that any of us had, together or otherwise. We had our own rooms, now ate at different times, and tip-toed around each-other. My mother said she thought she had driven me away. That wasn’t true. I had at least made sure she knew that. We shared a genuine moment at the gate as we said goodbye, and I was reminded how much my mother loves me. It was hard for her to let go. I gently edged myself out of her death grip hug and pulled away. I couldn’t tell her when I’d be back. I honestly didn’t know. She was devastated I was actually leaving.

Then, as I approached my grandfather, suddenly I began to crumble. I had remained strong throughout, but now it was all getting a bit too much. My eyes filled up, my lip began to tremble and I knew I was about to fall apart. But before I could, he interjected with some more wise words of wisdom which I had come to expect from him. I wanted his advice and I wanted to remember it. It felt right that he would be the last person to see me off.  We shook hands firmly and I was almost there. I worried that I would never see him in good health again: Parkinson’s had been slowing him down in recent months and he could well be a different man by the time I returned.

Head down, passport and boarding pass in hand, I took a deep breath and made a turn for the gate. My eyes had been pushing back tears in those last few minutes, but like faulty swimming goggles, I couldn’t keep them dry any longer. I began to sob, but out of site from my family, as I continued to make mercifully towards the desk. I looked back only once, to let out a forced smile. And then as I turned the corner, it was done.

I was gone.

It would be fifteen months until I would eat another Scottish breakfast.

Alcohol and Gambling: a pint before a punt?

The average person who doesn’t gamble, may think that you’d surely have to be blackout drunk to gamble excessively; or be riding high on whatever your recreational drug of choice is.

Gambling is generally painted in an alluring way in mainstream film and media – a heady world of casinos and sporting events; drugs; sex, money and alcohol; city lights and late nights; high rolling and hustling, wrapped up with all the vibrancy that life has to offer. This image of gambling is presented as an ultimate blowout for the ages, so I see the appeal.

But generally speaking, it’s really not how things are. And clearly, this wasn’t my experience – although it would probably make for a more interesting read…

For a dose of reality, you only needed to step into my local bookmakers at 2pm on a rainy Tuesday afternoon in Edinburgh – far from the blitz and glamour of the Vegas Strip. The only flashing lights to be found here, was from the Fixed Odd Betting Terminals; roadworks; and, on one occasion, the Police arresting a shoplifter across the street.

My relationship with gambling was mostly a sober affair. The reason I gambled compulsively is because I was addicted to gambling. Not because I was addicted to drugs or alcohol, nor under the influence of either, although I’m sure others have differing experiences.

Most of my gambling was done alone and behind closed doors. My addiction didn’t need any kind outside of influence to manifest. It didn’t really matter whether I gambled at home online, or at the bookies. Because the sad truth is, I felt just as alone and undisturbed in either.

Casinos wasn’t really my thing: the only times I ever found myself in them over the years, was to catch a night cap with friends after the bars and clubs had shut and even then, I wouldn’t gamble. As mentioned, I was a very private and secretive gambler. The idea of potentially having someone attempt to engage with me in public or watch what I was doing whilst gambling was off putting, so I’d usually just hang about the bar.

I was also too self-conscious and intimidated by the presence of other gamblers, especially those that I had deemed “better gamblers than me” so I’ve never sat at a Blackjack table or, surprisingly, a live Roulette Wheel – a game that would go on to really fuck me up and cost me thousands…

The first time I lost big, was £1000 in two spins on online roulette, whilst trying to chase my losses – something which I would go on to repeat a few more times before I managed to stop. This is a huge amount of money for me. I was at home on my own, and completely sober. In fact, I was sober for all of my big losses. But the thing they all had in common, was that they hurt massively. Like a literal gut punch. And the hurt doesn’t come instantly – it slowly consumes you as reality begins to bite. And when it does, you would do anything to turn back the clock – you just want to feel something close to normal again, after riding such a wave of emotions in the hours before. You become so far from yourself.

I find this type of compulsive gambling experience difficult to describe to people – it’s intense and hard to imagine. From euphoria to numbness, to feeling like you’ve blacked out and missed hours of time – it’s absolutely devastating to your mental health and you are completely out of control. You can’t just simply ‘stop’ at this point.

On that particular night, I experienced new feelings and emotions. I can only describe it as a visceral physical and mental breakdown, probably brought on by an adrenaline dump from hours of repetitive and addictive behaviour.

Once the dust had settled, and I was finished with frantically refreshing the page (to be 100% sure, that what had just happened had actually happened…) I began to tremble uncontrollably, as my mind ran circles. It felt like I was falling apart and it was incredibly raw. From there, I screamed; I punched furniture; I literally tried to pull my hair out at one point. I was completely unhinged. In pure desperation, the only thing I could think of doing was drinking to try and level the feeling out. I went to the fridge, opened a bottle of wine, and downed the whole bottle right there and then where I stood in the kitchen. I then jumped in the shower and literally tried to wash the feeling off. I stood there for as long as it took, as the water continuously bounced off my head. At some point, the wine kicked in and I jumped out of the shower and felt…normal?

I really didn’t know.

I sat back down in the living room wrapped up in my towel, and burst into tears. This was the first time that I’d felt so lost and out of control. I simply couldn’t handle it as I didn’t know how too. The alcohol begun to help take the edge off and took some of the pain away. It did exactly what I wanted it to do. From there, I continued drinking into the night.

This wouldn’t be the last time that I drank to numb the feeling of being addicted to gambling. I have sat in a few bars, staring into a pint glass not really knowing what to think or do anymore. But the one consistent with me, is that I didn’t need drugs or alcohol to gamble. In fact, on many occasions it was the opposite. I needed drugs or alcohol after gambling, to take my mind away from what I was feeling at the time. And when I think back on it now, I feel fortunate that one addictive habit didn’t fully manifest itself into three. Drinking was purely a plaster on a wound that was never going to heal, unless I got help with my gambling. Numbing myself in this way was not going to fix anything. It was simply a means of delaying and deflecting from the real issues, and I’m glad that I realised that when I did.

Although I completely appreciate that this would be a sensitive topic for some, I’d be interested to hear other people’s relationship with drugs and/or alcohol, especially in relation to gambling. What was your experience?

Gambling Triggers.

Triggers}} Having awareness about what may potentially trigger a gambling relapse is one thing, but what about the unexpected curve balls that life sometimes throws your way? I’m using this picture of a children’s claw machine as a prime example of something seemingly ordinary and harmless, yet something that can really set you back in your recovery.

Although not financially damaging (unless you really want that pug…) a machine such as this can be just as stimulating as gambling, and release the very same endorphins.
A pound for a pug, could ultimately claw you back into gambling – you’re effectively stirring all of the same emotions and feelings you had all over again.

My advice? Trust your gut instinct with this. If you have to think about it, stay clear.

To give you a more relatable example: I relapsed after months of not gambling, due to my work participating in a World Cup Sweepstake. My contribution? Literally two pounds, and I drew Paraguay – a team that was never going to win the World Cup. However, I watched every Paraguay game eagerly, and those endorphins stayed with me throughout the group stages. Before the World Cup was over, I was betting on sports again.

These are the things that are out to test you and will come around from time to time.
They will come in many different forms so be ready. Don’t think too long and hard about it. Simply act by not getting involved.

Besides, no one likes pugs anyway…