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The neon lights of the casino ruined me. I'm a man named Alex who ruined myself at the craps tables.
Night after night, the roulette wheel spun its hypnotic dance. The clinking of chips was a temptation I couldn't resist.
My wife, Lisa, implored me to stay away from the casino, but the casino's call was louder.
On that calamitous night at the VIP room, I bet all we had: our security, our home - on one spin of the wheel.
The dice rolled snake eyes and fortune abandoned me.
Returning to our house with nothing left, I found only a note: "Goodbye. Your slot machine fixation has torn us apart."
Deserted in an hollow apartment, I grasped that hunting a royal flush robbed me of love and family.
Doctors diagnosed major depressive disorder, intensified by my yearning for the casino floor.
Now, constantly is a war not just with my compulsion to place bets, but with the deep darkness that haunts me. Will I ever rise above this chasm created by the glittering world of casinos?
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