Arriving at a 1987 Gamblers Anonymous event in Dallas, Chris Anderson was at a low point. After years of losing money on high-risk stock option trades, his mental health had deteriorated and he had filed for bankruptcy. Fed up with the chaos and dishonesty, his wife had left him. Like many people contending with a severe gambling disorder, Anderson regularly experienced suicidal thoughts. Still, he couldn’t stop placing bets. He related his desperation to an older gentleman with kind eyes who nodded patiently.
“What he said to me was, ‘You’re really hurting, aren’t you?’” Anderson recalls nearly four decades later. “I knew at that moment I found somebody who