I strayed into a bingo website on a lonely depressing morning, from my workstation in my comfortable home. My son, my only family, was away at college and I desperately needed to connect. Before I knew it, I was playing madly, learning the ropes, losing some and winning none. But the hornet’s nest had been stirred. The next morning, bathed and breakfasted, I settled down to playing more bingo. This time I saw more. I learnt more through the chat room. These were people out there; just like me! I got some valuable tips. I won some money, albeit a small amount, but I was excited and elated. Hey, this was fun! And I was earning, I justified to the tiny voice within me.

Over the next few months I managed to completely snuff out the tiny voice. The heady rush of my bingo highs left me impervious to all else. I did not miss my son. I sought out a local group. I played with them in the evening, while my mornings were dedicated to bingo online. I was a confirmed bingo addict, deliriously happy with my little winnings and my growing network.

Then one day something snapped. I did not go online. I did not visit the local bingo room. I did not move; I did not feel anything. It took me some effort to get out of bed and take myself to the neighborhood school to volunteer, something I had been wanting to do for some time. Now I am addicted to that and I find that more fulfilling.

However, Saturday night is still bingo night at the local club. Trust me; it’s more fun this way!