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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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Biggest Blackjack Win Ever - Broke the Bank - NeverSplit10s

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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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My 21 Month Blackjack And Craps Gambling Addiction Story Saved My Life

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Losing entire life savings in less than 10 minutes playing blackjack

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In the heat of the moment you will have a good chance of chasing your losses if you have a gambling problem. Gamblers always want to just.


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1.5 million dollars WON!!! on live blackjack #plus huge tilt

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10 Signs You Are Addicted To Gambling: Stop Addiction To Casinos and Online

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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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Louis Theroux plays Blackjack -Gambling in Las Vegas - BBC

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Gambling Addiction (My Story)

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


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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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10 Biggest Gambling Losses Of All Time

I remember sitting in the dark for half an hour with such joy and relief washing over me. I called my GP, fixed an emergency appointment and got myself straight down there. This was no vague optical effect, either, but a perfectly formed, shiny new king of hearts. This is my usual garb — my uniform, if you will — when I visit my betting shop of choice in north London. Now, if all poker — all gambling games, in fact — 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. But that's pretty obviously not the whole story. 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. 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. But the demons were of the opinion that I shouldn't stop there. 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. I have swallowed my pride, sought professional help, attended GA meetings. He chortled and gave me the name of a "reputable" site. But the resentment doesn't last. I waited a quarter of an hour for a seat to come vacant. The other day, for instance, as I approached Finchley Road, near where I live — a thoroughfare positively festooned with betting shops — I conceived a strong urge to have a flutter on the betting machines. And among the charms of the betting shop, blackjack has the greatest appeal. I found myself walking, like a zombie, towards the nearest of the outlets. One day in February I asked the old pal in question if there was anywhere you could play Holdem online. What harm could it do, now that I was cured? I couldn't keep this goldmine I'd hit on to myself. 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. I was in there all the next day, my pulse returning to normal just 20 minutes before I was scheduled to be medically "rebooted". I was an addict by now, of course, and that kind of self-delusion is standard addict practice. The pull on me as I headed back toward the bus stop, and home, was astonishingly powerful. 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. Worse still, because of the peculiar nature of gambling addiction — many experts reckon it's the hardest of all addictions to cure — 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 announced arrogantly at dinner parties that I had discovered a new string to my bow, a sure-fire revenue stream. But, yes, the highs. 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. It's a truism to say that no very disastrous experience is without its compensatory positives — its winnings, in other words.{/INSERTKEYS}{/PARAGRAPH} I've gambled online, and in live casinos, but neither has the same, uniquely sordid appeal as the betting shop. There is one other punter in the place — 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. The gambler in me is still looking to recoup, needless to say. The soulless strip lighting of the shop creates a curiously appealing, dismal ambience — a kind of physical equivalent to my own spiritual landscape. 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. {PARAGRAPH}{INSERTKEYS}I t is nine o'clock on a Saturday night and I should be at an old friend's party. You should not be doing this. I went back to my laptop, put another 5k on and hit blackjack. 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. Regaining a recent loss brings a special pleasure of its own, as any gambler will tell you: a weird, warped sense of redemption. Well, clearly because I'm a schmuck, but that's not what I mean; I mean biographically speaking …. At the time of writing I haven't gambled, in any shape or form, for several months. She placed a large white tablet in my hand. There are likely to be nice people there, artistic, talented; and the hostess is a wizard cook. Though, in this case, in return for the money you feed in, you mostly get nothing back. For many years an old friend of mine and I have been devotees of poker. What had I got to lose? With roulette, you spin the wheel, and that's it; horses: once they're off, ditto. 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 — Paddy Power or Betfred here, William Hill or Ladbrokes there. And I am once again remortgaged, for 30k this time. Then one day I found myself in a Ladbrokes shop on a Saturday afternoon with every station occupied. 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. Go home, switch off your computer, or better still, chuck it in the bin and take this pill and get some sleep. Like all addictive activities, it offers astonishing highs — highs as high as the lows are low. 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. This is something, I tell myself. So, why am I here? It wasn't even my money, but the bank's. During a lucky streak, for instance, I get a sense of quite astonishing and implausibly sustained wellbeing. 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. The tax revenues from the big gaming companies help build schools and hospitals, pay for teachers, doctors and nurses. The fact that I went on to blow the lot in 10 minutes and was suicidal for a fortnight thereafter is another matter. I started in a restrained way — five or six hours a day — maybe a bit more if I had no work on. 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. I used to watch small-scale punters like this with contempt. It's the tackiness of the betting shop that, for me, puts it without peer as a means of wrecking your life. 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. 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. It was seven for seven thirty, dress smart but "not too smart" I am not at the party however. Feeling a whole lot better, I reckoned I would just get a couple more hours' play in, take the tablet and turn in. No less pitiful, you might say, than an alcoholic outside the off licence at 9. 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. I spent the day debating with myself whether or not I should try my luck and see what I could do with that 5k. If it didn't, who on earth would take it up in the first place? So I would find myself, at 9. I collapsed on the sofa, numb with joy, sandbagged by bliss. That convinced me of the true nature of my predicament, though sadly it didn't do anything to curtail it. Soon I was convinced I'd struck gold. All this makes gambling seem a dark and destructive business, and, of course, it can be. I have lost, at a conservative estimate, a quarter of a million pounds over the past seven years. 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 even managed to convince myself that I was earning a living from the game. 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. The "fish" poker speak for bad players out there had to be seen to be believed. I do not complain about any of this — not the debt, the near-death experience, not even the huge and horribly dark spells of despair and self-loathing. 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. It took many weeks of steady, daily losses before a nagging suspicion was born that something might be amiss. There is nothing worse in this world than a sore loser, and nowhere is that more true than in gambling. Hard to retain much self-respect after that. That night I opened an account and began to play. But now he does it in different ways. Or, to put it another way, a greedy klutz wanting something for nothing. They were all over the walls, they were dangling from the curtains. I hit 20 with that hand, won, 20 with the next, won again, won again with the third bet. Wherever I went — bathroom to wash, kitchen to make breakfast — they kept popping up.