Poker Chips and Broken Dreams

[roazytog]

The gambling halls consumed me. Alex here, lost everything at the blackjack tables.
Constantly, the gambling halls called. The cheers at the craps table was my siren’s call.
My wife, Maria, implored me to quit playing slots, but the casino’s call was louder.
On that disastrous night at the lavish casino resort, I put on the line all we had: our entire nest egg, our residence – on a “sure thing” bet.
My poker hand was beaten and fortune abandoned me.
Returning to our place with empty pockets, I found only a note: “Goodbye. Your gambling addiction has ruined our lives.”
Sitting in an bare home, I grasped that grasping at the jackpot cost me what was truly valuable.
Doctors diagnosed a depressive condition, intensified by my yearning for the casino floor.
Now, all the time is a war not just with the phantom sounds of slot machines, but with the deep darkness in my soul. Is it possible for me to climb out of this abyss dug by years of gambling?
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