Achieving Serenity

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Surviving our emotions

A relaxing night for Eric often consisted of a 12-pack of Coors Light, an eighth-ounce of Sativa, his laptop open displaying the online lobby of his favorite poker site, and of course- sweet, sweet isolation.

His friends mostly gave up on trying to contact him, as the conversation at the party would often play out like so:

"Hey, where's Eric? Let's get his ass over here."

"Oh, I wouldn't bother, man. He's either jerking off or playing poker- either way, he's not answering his phone."

Eric lived at home with his overprotective mother and his non-confrontational father, coming from a relatively wealthy family thanks to the huge company that his grandfather had built, offering temporary storage units for small businesses all across the world. As a result, the mishaps of Eric were often quietly and swiftly settled with his enabling parents willing to bail him out at any given notice. His most recent episode of chaos consisted of him taking Xanax and driving up to the local Indian casino in a rental car. He had a rental because he had totaled his own car, again after taking Xanax, crashing into a freeway wall. When he got to the casino, he began drinking heavily and ended up taking a cab home; hey, that's pretty responsible, right? Well, there are three Indian casinos near his home, and he couldn't remember which one he went to. His dad had to call Security at all three casinos and request that they inspect their parking lots for his son's black Lexus, and fortunately, one of the security guards found the car parked in the valet section. The Dude, Where's My Car? homage seemed to arrive at a happy conclusion, despite the side damage on the rental car that Eric claims he has zero recollection of when or where that could've happened. Luckily his father had paid the extra for the insurance.

The gambling money mostly came from his parents, but Eric also had a job as a server at a nearby dive bar. The system generally was that Eric would accumulate a couple hundred dollars from work, gamble it all with hopeless desperation and then cry to his mother about how he needs money in his bank account in order to be happy. He would continue to convince them that he has dreams of becoming a professional poker player, and all that they are doing is merely investing in his career. Seeing a therapist weekly seemed to not move the needle much for Eric, but there was a treatment center that was being pushed to him as a solution to his self-destructive ways. After discussing it with his parents, they seem to be on-board for rehab. It's forty-five days, and to Eric, it feels scary and borderline pointless.

This particular night in February was a hopeful and euphoric one for him. He had a fresh $3,000 in his bank account and made sure he had his drugs/alcohol to complement his upcoming online poker action. The feeling of "I'm about to gamble" was the most pleasurable for Eric; the entire lead-up to that glorious moment. All of his insecurities were resting comfortably on his mental back-burner as he popped two Xanax bars a friend had sold him, and authorized a $1,000 charge to his gambling account. He let the pills rest underneath his tongue, as he felt this was the optimal way to get his anxieties to disappear the fastest, and grabbed his iced bong out of his mini-freezer. After loading a thick bowl, he lit up and exhaled the smoke, coughing aggressively as he cracked open his first Coors. Eric takes an elongated chug but lets the Xanax continue to dissolve underneath his tongue.

Getting back to his online poker, he entered into a $3/$6 NL Hold-em online cash game and took the one available seat at the 6max table, buying in with $600 of his $1,000 bankroll. He unchecked the box that said "Wait for Big Blind", gladly taking the extra hit to his chip stack in order to get in on the action as soon as possible. He topped off his first beer and started to feel the Xanax hijacking his GABA receptors with the gradual alcohol buzz creeping in. He took another rip of his bong as he wanted the natural heaven-like sensation of all of his drugs of choice being at his grasp in one Zen-like moment. He finally arrived at his euphoric destination as his laptop showed him that he had been dealt pocket tens. The emotional comfortability that he dreams about day in and day out is in his immediate presence, and all that he must do now is enjoy the moment and make it last as long as he can.