I am not a piece of shit.

Disproving the biggest lie my Gambling addiction convinced me of.

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I received a speeding fine in the mail early last week. Nothing too egregious — I was doing 67km/h in a 60-zone — however, the $322 fine did make it a very expensive trip to my G.A. meeting.

As I opened the letter, I was flooded with an all too familiar feeling — fear.

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A crumb of context.

You see, I don’t have access to most of my money. This was put in place originally as a necessity. Cutting off a problem gambler from their cash source is an incredibly helpful tool to both help them into abstinence, and to reduce the level of risk when it comes to relapse.

I once saw it as cheating, in a way. If I’m honest, as I began writing this piece, I had to wrestle with that feeling again. After all, there is a fine line between security and skirting responsibility. For now, though, I am content with this set-up; after 8-years of financial obsession and havoc, my pride can continue to take the passenger seat.

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A child again.

So, as I opened the letter containing the fine, my stomach dropped. I felt like a child again; I was in trouble, and I had to get my parent to sign-off on my letter home from school which detailed my crimes.

I had to ask my Dad to send me money to pay the fine.

My own money, of course. And as I said above, I hadn’t done anything particularly heinous either — driving at 7km/h over the speed limit isn’t something you’ll see on the nightly News.

My Dad - due to no real actions of his own - was now indirectly embodying my inner self-critic. To reach out and admit to him that I had made a mistake, seemed to be to admit to myself that I was indeed, a piece of shit. Exactly as I had done during my years of gambling, I tried to immediately avoid this.

I considered paying for it out of my allocated grocery money. When I realised the folly in this, I thought of reaching out to someone to borrow money to pay for it. I can recognise the insanity of this, don’t worry; I just hope it conveys to you just how strongly I still believe this critical inner-voice of mine. I wanted to do anything I could to run away from this very minor mistake that I had made.

So, I was a big boy. I fronted up to my Dad, and told him of the fine. Shockingly, he didn’t really care. Which, of course, is the standard reaction to a small error, from one adult to another.

But, it really got me thinking — why had this fear been so strong? Where was it originating from, if not guilt? Why was it so high? And why had it made me consider doing anything and everything possible to avoid simply reaching out to my Dad — in the exact same way that it had done during my gambling days.

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‘You’re a piece of shit’ - Gambling.

I think I’m still struggling with the weight of feeling worthless.

Gambling sold me many lies, but perhaps the most crippling of all of these was that my self-worth and my actions are conflated. I didn’t realise that it was a belief I still held, until all this occurred last week.

To be frank, I’m not even sure if Gambling was the first to suggest to me that I was, possibly, a terrible person at my core. It most likely began with my first bout of clinical anxiety during High School. But, with every bet, every weekend lost to staring at my screen, every friend that I eventually lied to about the extent of my problem; Gambling certainly re-iterated it to me, over and over again.

“You’re a piece of shit. You’ve fucked up beyond any form of redemption. No-one will ever forgive you - killing yourself is the only plausible way forwards.”

It yelled it at me in the middle of the night. Screamed it so loudly, that I could do nothing but try to drown it out; with booze, or tablets, or both. My suicidal ideations became a very real concern — ultimately resulting in two attempts — because I began to believe so strongly that I was a piece of shit. At first, because of my actions. Though in time, after enough times of hearing it echo around my brain, it became a core belief.

It’s a dangerous thing, to lose sight of your inherent worth as a human being. Further than that, to begin believing that your actions dictate this ‘worth’ — especially when you’re trapped in the throws of addiction.

Even if you aren’t struggling with addiction, the mere fact that you are human guarantees a life-time of fuck-ups, to varying degrees. Your inherent worth must be just that - inherent - and can’t be allowed to fluctuate, no matter how badly you might think that you’ve messed things up.

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So, am I as bad as I think?

On a Spiritual-level, I can theoretically rest easy in the knowledge that my inherent worth is not found in my actions. As a Christian, I believe that all my wrongdoings are crossed out, erased by the cross and the actions of Jesus through death.

But, as I’m sure many others would attest to, having beliefs and believing something are two totally separate things. I can sit and recognise the truth in my slate being wiped clean, but to attempt to apply this to my faults appears to still be a step too far.

Which is where I need others to step in, and help re-direct my thinking.

I need Community.

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Community is a necessity.

To seek help, it takes a lot of admitting to your faults and flaws, to a lot of people. I couldn’t be helped without first opening up to others; for there was no other way for them to possibly know just how deep in it all I was.

This admittance, for me, was a huge issue. It still is!

Similar to my speeding fine situation, telling my friends/family about my addiction seemed to be the final nail in the coffin of self-hate. The exclamation mark to the sentence “I am a truly horrible person!”

A big part of this was due to the fact that I truly believed that my loved ones would react to my mistakes the exact same way I had — with vitriol, hate and disgust. If I couldn’t apply any form of self-forgiveness to myself, how could I expect them to? This assumption of how others would react kept me from sharing with them for far too long.

The only thing this did was prolong my recovery.

I had gambled to a point where I could no longer forgive myself. I had tried various forms of therapy, self-reflections and self-help — everything.

It wasn’t until I began to allow others into my struggles, that I was able to break the narrative that I was an inherently shit person. I needed those around me to remind me that I was, after all, worthy of love. Not because of anything that I had done. Nor anything I hadn’t done. I was worthy of love and forgiveness — simply because I was me.

Your mere existence is enough to warrant unconditional love and acceptance. I promise.

If I can pass on one major thing that I have learnt over the years, it’s to stop assuming the worst in people. I ran and retreated from my safe communities to avoid hatred, which never existed in the first place.

Every single person I came clean to about my problems reacted with nothing but love, grace, and some very warranted confusion. This speaks volumes for those in my life, absolutely, but it wasn’t something they were able to extend to me until I shared with them about my addiction.

Give people a chance to let you down; to react negatively to your struggles. If you’re anything like me, you’re already assuming that this is how they’ll react - so what do you have to lose?

Trust that those around you are there because they want to be; because they love you. It won’t always be true, and I don’t mean to pretend that it will be. But someone, somewhere along the way, will react with more love than you’re extending to yourself.

And, perhaps, just like me, the love and hope that you so desperately need, will only be found externally. At least to begin with.

Perhaps, just like me, you’ll learn that you aren’t a piece of shit.

Love x

Day 647, One Day at a Time.

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