I played $77 in slots today while smoking. I did it because I love it. It makes me temporarily happy (although frustrated and anxious too). It’s distracting. I find it fun. I also think it’s a totally absurd and ridiculous thing to do and I wish I didn’t want to anymore. But I want to go back tomorrow. I’m already trying to figure out how to lie my way out of the house I’m staying in so I can go to the same casino and play the same game for another couple hours. And yes, waste another $80. I could lie and say it would be less, but that doesn’t work here. I’ve pledged to tell the truth. I don’t get to only do that when it’s a truth I’m comfortable sharing.
I hate myself a little for indulging myself so much. That’s how I see it, anyway. As though I’m indulging myself; giving myself something I shouldn’t because I’m weak or pathetic or not strong enough to not give in to what I want in the moment I slide another $20 into the machine.
And I know I’ll try to find a way to go back tomorrow and do it again. I hate myself for that too.
It doesn’t matter that I’m a really, really good person who is determined to at least try to do something meaningful with my life. The fact that I don’t drink alcohol or do drugs doesn’t count for anything here. That I am trying to be honest about all aspects of who I am even when it’s painful to do so–and to be honest with myself as much as possible in the midst of whatever process I’m in–doesn’t come into play.
It’s always on where I fail in the places other people don’t seem to that I shine the light the brightest. I decide my worth based on that. It’s a shitty fucking system.
I like gambling. I like pissing away my money in a slot machine on the rare occasion when I can. I used to it more frequently when I lived in Nevada. That’s the truth. I don’t like it, but it’s real. And I don’t want to shame myself for it anymore.
Suddenly, this post seems incredibly dumb. I mean really, who cares?