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After Maria N.'s husband died in 1993, she turned to therapy. And when therapy didn't ease her grief, she turned to slot machines.
"I didn't want to go home," says the 74-year-old Pinellas County, Fla., woman. "I did anything to get to the casino."
Working as a secretary, she managed 20 minutes at the slots during her lunch break. At the end of the day, she dashed to her car and headed back. For nine or 10 hours a night, almost every night of the week, she haunted the casino.
"No amount of time [at the casino] was enough," says Maria, who asked that her real name not be used.
Today, she's recovering from six years of out-of-control gambling. She doesn't wear her history on her sleeve, but she does speak at public events sponsored by gambler support groups. "I want to fix this problem and help others understand how quickly gambling can destroy your life," Maria says. "A gambler becomes a liar."
She lied to her daughter, other relatives and friends when they asked why she was never home. And when creditors began to call her, "I always said, 'The check is in the mail.' "
Within months of entering the casino world, Maria had two second mortgages on her home, totaling more than $20,000. Though she remembers winning large sums in the beginning, including a $14,000 jackpot, she also had debts mounting with credit card companies and department stores.
"I didn't care about anything, including paying my bills," Maria says. "And when I was at the casino, there could have been no one in the room, or 300 people. All I was focused on was hearing the sound of cash coming out of the slots."
By 1999 she had lost her home, and creditors constantly hounded her. She had taken a buyout from her employer and realized her nest egg was in jeopardy, too.
Finally she confided her addiction to a friend. The friend and her husband took Maria into their home for six months. Eventually the three of them pulled together a down payment for a condominium for Maria. She also called the Florida Council on Compulsive Gambling hotline and was referred to a counselor whom she began to see three times a week.
Maria hasn't visited a casino in nearly eight years. With financial assistance from friends and cooperation from creditors, she's back on her feet. She pays her mortgage and condo fee with money from her Social Security checks, a small pension from her former employer and her husband's pension as a civil servant.
"I'm doing OK now," Maria says. "I've mended fences with my daughter and with others to whom I'd lied over the years. It's taken courage, but I've done it, and I'm proud of that."
One lesson remains with her every day: "Like any addiction, once a gambler, always a gambler. I know I can't ever set foot in a casino again, or I'll lose my life again. Let me tell you, once is quite enough."
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