I moved to Canada from Central America 35 years ago. I was the happiest person in the world. I left behind everything and everyone I loved, but I felt ready for a new beginning. A new adventure.

My husband and I started a business together in Southern Ontario just after we were married. It was very successful. I stayed home with our children when they were small, and my husband would spend hours at the business. We felt productive and happy.

As the children got older, my husband spent more and more time at the business, and I found myself with a lot more time on my hands. I felt isolated too, because I didn’t speak English very well. I started going to the casino every week for something to do. At the casino, I could be out of the house and not have to speak to anybody. Then I started going more and more—always alone. Sometimes, I wouldn’t get back home until 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning. My husband was so worried about me, but he is a calm and gentle man and he didn’t try to stop me from going. Instead, he would quietly ask me how much I had lost. I always lied. At first, I’d go with $200 and it wasn’t enough. Next time I’d bring $500. Then I started charging $1,500 on my credit card.

And I was very superstitious. I’d make sure I was at the casino on the seventh of every month. I would never enter the casino at the unlucky hour of 6:00 p.m. Now I can laugh at how complicated a trip to the casino was for me, but it is also very troubling. I believed that if I pressed the button on the slot machine at the stroke of midnight, I would win millions. And I loved to go to the casino on Saturday and Monday, because I was convinced that the slot machines would be full of money from Friday and Sunday night. I would never enter the casino without my collection of lucky charms. Each one had a job to perform. For example, the chili pepper charms would stop the envious people waiting for my machine from sending me bad vibes. Now I realize all these beliefs are lies.

My son was so worried about me—I was going through our savings so fast. I was alone at the casino all the time. He thought that if he bought me a toy slot machine, it would keep me out of the casino and safely at home. But if I won on that little machine, I took it as a sign to go to the casino.

I would be down to my last three $100 bills, but I couldn’t leave. I wanted to lose everything so I could just go home and sleep. I knew I needed help, but I didn’t want to stop completely. My first step was to call the Ontario Problem Gambling Helpline, and they helped me book an appointment with a treatment agency. I kept going back to the casino at that point, but I set a deadline for myself to quit—on a very special date for me. On my final visit, I went with $700 and lost it all.

If you are in the same place I was, don’t be afraid to ask for help. But at the same time, only you can make that change. If you don’t believe you have a problem, you won’t change. I still struggle every day. The pain I put my family through and the debt I racked up weighs heavily on me. I’m ashamed because I gambled away everything that my husband and I worked so hard to save. But when I go to see my counsellor, and now, sharing this story with you, I feel relief just talking about it and facing the truth.

I hope that someone in a situation like mine can think about my story and stop gambling. It’s never too late. I have lost so much, but I feel I can save my money and start over. You can too.

–Carolina, Recovering Problem Gambler

Once every couple of months, my girlfriend and I would go to the casino and play blackjack. We brought $200 each, and when that was gone—whether it was two minutes or two hours later—we’d leave.

Then I started going alone. On weekends, I’d wake up early so I’d have more time to gamble. I put off chores and errands, choosing to go to the casino instead. I avoided my family and friends. At the table, I bet more and more to try to win back what I had lost. Gambling was no longer a pastime. In my mind, it was a business venture.

Gambling became my world. I would go to the casino directly from work with anywhere from $2,000 to $3,000 in my pocket, and stay there until the next morning. Struggling to stay awake, I’d put in my eight hours at work, only to do it all over again. I’d sleep during lunch hour or whenever I could find time to pull over on the side of the highway. It was dangerous and, in retrospect, I’m so grateful I never caused an accident.

As ironic as it may sound, gambling originally gave me a sense of control. The idea that my fate (winning or losing) was based solely on the decisions I made at the table appealed to me. Eventually, it became my release—my escape. When I was stressed out from work or from friction in relationships, I turned to gambling as a way to clear my mind.

One Saturday morning, I came home after a night of gambling and I couldn’t sleep. I lay awake in bed and began to think about where I was in life. I thought about all the relationships I had strained or lost, and the people I couldn’t face. I thought about everything I had once been proud of, everything that made me who I was: a good brother, a good son, a good friend; someone who was dependable, responsible, and who others could turn to.

I realized I had lost everything. I had lost things that money couldn’t replace, things that defined me. I had lost my sense of self. It was the saddest day of my life and one that I will always remember. A few hours later I called my sister and could only manage to say, “I need to stop.”

Admitting and then facing my gambling problem was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. I won’t lie to you—it will not be easy, but there is hope. If you’re in the position I was in, chances are you feel loneliness so heavy and dark that you fear you’ll never come out of it. The truth is, you’re not alone. The first step is yours and yours alone to take, but after that, you’ll be surprised by how many people will help you. No matter how deep you’re in, no matter how much of your life gambling has eaten away at, none of these things are irreversible.

–Jason, Recovering Problem Gambler

I grew up playing cards around the dining room table. The stakes were low, mostly pennies and nickels. Gambling always had positive associations for me: good times and warm memories of my family. And for a large part of my adult life, gambling wasn’t a problem.

Then when my husband was offered a great job on the other side of the province, I hated that I had to move. I couldn’t find work in my field and I felt trapped. I was so resentful. I started playing Bingo once or twice a week. When I was keeping track of my cards, I didn’t have to think about anything else. That’s where I ran to when things got tough.

The negativity in my life peaked with two horrific accidents that happened within two years of each other. The first accident left me struggling to recover physically and emotionally. Then, my husband got into an accident. My car was totaled. That car was a symbol of my independence, because I bought it after I split from my first husband. And now it was gone. Relieved my husband was OK, I was also angry, and felt guilty for feeling this way. In this frame of mind, I picked my husband up from the accident scene, brought him home, and went directly to the Bingo Hall. The accident started a four-year streak of playing Bingo daily. If I lost, there had to be something wrong with the filter—the numbers weren’t dropping properly. I went back every day, hoping to win the money back. I never did.

After four years, I was $88,000 in debt. I had no choice but to quit. I joined Gambler’s Anonymous and enrolled in a 12-week treatment program. I dealt with my debt and got on with life. I was doing so well, in fact, that I thought I could handle a night at the casino. I discovered the slots, and the cycle started again.

Problem gambling was eating away at my self-esteem, taking away everything I liked about myself. With my addiction, the actress was born. I’d be juggling money, bank accounts, taking my husband’s credit card, lying, and pawning jewellery. My husband would ask me why I wasn’t wearing my rings. I’d tell him I had eczema. It was the deception that made me realize I had to quit. One of the last times I gambled, my sisters took me out for my birthday. I pretended I hadn’t been to the casino in ages. If fact, I was there less than 24 hours before. I set them up; I used this special night as an excuse to gamble. I knew it had to stop.

I returned to Gambler’s Anonymous and started connecting with other problem gamblers. It takes a long time to come out of it. I was very angry. Angry because I couldn’t gamble anymore, and angry at myself. Everything that used to fuel my gambling—arguments, fears, disappointment—is still there. But now I find other ways to cope. When you’re in the depths of an addiction, nothing else exists. It’s like when you press your nose up to a mirror; you can’t see anything. It’s when you step back that your world becomes visible. Now, I can see clearly.

–Sandra, Recovering Problem Gambler