Hey everyone. This is my first post. I'm glad I found this forum.
Is there anybody else here who grew up with a parent who is addicted to gambling?
I feel like substance abuse is talked about so much, but gambling isn't.
I guess I'll talk about "my story."
When I was about 6 months old, my father lost control of his gambling. He stole money from the company he worked for, almost went to prison, but didn't because he and my mother managed to get a loan to pay back the money. He was volatile. Being around him was like walking on eggshells. I don't remember, but I'm sure that he was physically abusive to my mother. I remember threats and verbal abuse clearly. My parents separated when I was 3, and I lived with each in separate homes. I never knew any different. He was terrifying. He would throw cups, plates, cutlery, furniture, punch holes in walls, call my sister and I names, threaten us, etc. I coped my dissociating. I lived in my head in a world of fantasy. I daydreamed nonstop about living somewhere else with different parents. I spent a lot of time at school alone. I never really had friends, and would walk around by myself at break times.
I never thought he'd actually hurt me but when I was 13 he snapped and pinned me against the wall with his hands around my neck. I will never forget how his eyes looked. I thought he was going to kill me. I froze. Time stopped. It's been 10 years, but it still feels like time has frozen and I'm stuck in that place while the world moves forward without me. Right after it happened I walked out of the house and down the street, By chance, my mother was driving home from work down that street and she pulled the car over. She saw that I was in shock and I told her what he did. She took me to her house. We never spoke of it again. After 3 moths my Dad called me and asked me to come back to live with him every second week, which I did. I don't know why. I think it was the sadness in his voice. I felt bad for him. My Mum didn't stop me.
Not very long after he did this, I became suicidal. At the age of 11 I was fantasizing about death, but not until after his attack did I seriously consider it. I have been suicidal (passively mostly) for the past decade. I've attempted a few times, the worst being an overdose landing me in the ICU and attempting to jump in front of a car. I was taken to the hospital by the police on multiple occasions because my drinking got out of control and drunken suicidal me seemed to always wind up in police cars.
My last attempt was 2 years ago. I ended up in the psych ward where I spent two weeks, was put of zoloft/sertaline and seroquel/quetiapine. That combo worked for me well. I'd tried many other meds that ever worked. I had quit my job 3 months before this and went onto welfare. I just couldn't cope anymore. I'm still on welfare now. I saw a psychologist for a while. She was great but I couldn't open up. I don't trust anybody, which makes it impossible to connect with anyone, so I'm lonely and I have social anxiety. I'm not currently in therapy but I do see a youth worker weekly. He's been very helpful and has made me feel like there is a future for me.
Recently I've had a setback. My dog died and my mood has plummeted into the dark abyss that is depression. I have no appetite. I keep crying. I've been cleaning a lot because it gives me a sense of control. It's become so obvious to me that I am alone. Each time I make a friend, they leave. I have a major fear of intimacy (due to trust issues) so I've never had a boyfriend. Actually I have, but for 3 weeks, and he dumped me because I was so hard to connect with. I don't really count that. We were basically friends not partners. I also haven't moved out of home. I live with my mother. We get on okay, but I do resent her for doing nothing when I told her about my Dad attacking me.
So yeah. I'm still living with the trauma of thinking my Dad was going to murder me. I'm contemplating starting therapy, but I'm afraid it will be the same as it has been time and time again, that is me not opening up. I don't know if I'll ever be happy. I feel better that I've gotten this off my chest. I'm sorry its so long, and if you've gotten to the end, thank you.
Is there anybody else here who grew up with a parent who is addicted to gambling?
I feel like substance abuse is talked about so much, but gambling isn't.
I guess I'll talk about "my story."
When I was about 6 months old, my father lost control of his gambling. He stole money from the company he worked for, almost went to prison, but didn't because he and my mother managed to get a loan to pay back the money. He was volatile. Being around him was like walking on eggshells. I don't remember, but I'm sure that he was physically abusive to my mother. I remember threats and verbal abuse clearly. My parents separated when I was 3, and I lived with each in separate homes. I never knew any different. He was terrifying. He would throw cups, plates, cutlery, furniture, punch holes in walls, call my sister and I names, threaten us, etc. I coped my dissociating. I lived in my head in a world of fantasy. I daydreamed nonstop about living somewhere else with different parents. I spent a lot of time at school alone. I never really had friends, and would walk around by myself at break times.
I never thought he'd actually hurt me but when I was 13 he snapped and pinned me against the wall with his hands around my neck. I will never forget how his eyes looked. I thought he was going to kill me. I froze. Time stopped. It's been 10 years, but it still feels like time has frozen and I'm stuck in that place while the world moves forward without me. Right after it happened I walked out of the house and down the street, By chance, my mother was driving home from work down that street and she pulled the car over. She saw that I was in shock and I told her what he did. She took me to her house. We never spoke of it again. After 3 moths my Dad called me and asked me to come back to live with him every second week, which I did. I don't know why. I think it was the sadness in his voice. I felt bad for him. My Mum didn't stop me.
Not very long after he did this, I became suicidal. At the age of 11 I was fantasizing about death, but not until after his attack did I seriously consider it. I have been suicidal (passively mostly) for the past decade. I've attempted a few times, the worst being an overdose landing me in the ICU and attempting to jump in front of a car. I was taken to the hospital by the police on multiple occasions because my drinking got out of control and drunken suicidal me seemed to always wind up in police cars.
My last attempt was 2 years ago. I ended up in the psych ward where I spent two weeks, was put of zoloft/sertaline and seroquel/quetiapine. That combo worked for me well. I'd tried many other meds that ever worked. I had quit my job 3 months before this and went onto welfare. I just couldn't cope anymore. I'm still on welfare now. I saw a psychologist for a while. She was great but I couldn't open up. I don't trust anybody, which makes it impossible to connect with anyone, so I'm lonely and I have social anxiety. I'm not currently in therapy but I do see a youth worker weekly. He's been very helpful and has made me feel like there is a future for me.
Recently I've had a setback. My dog died and my mood has plummeted into the dark abyss that is depression. I have no appetite. I keep crying. I've been cleaning a lot because it gives me a sense of control. It's become so obvious to me that I am alone. Each time I make a friend, they leave. I have a major fear of intimacy (due to trust issues) so I've never had a boyfriend. Actually I have, but for 3 weeks, and he dumped me because I was so hard to connect with. I don't really count that. We were basically friends not partners. I also haven't moved out of home. I live with my mother. We get on okay, but I do resent her for doing nothing when I told her about my Dad attacking me.
So yeah. I'm still living with the trauma of thinking my Dad was going to murder me. I'm contemplating starting therapy, but I'm afraid it will be the same as it has been time and time again, that is me not opening up. I don't know if I'll ever be happy. I feel better that I've gotten this off my chest. I'm sorry its so long, and if you've gotten to the end, thank you.