Every one of us, at one time or another, has heard the stories of individuals that have been addicted to some vice of sorts, and how they suffer through the pangs of withdrawal. We know that they're going through this for their own good, and that hopefully they'll be better, cleaner, and more well-rounded individuals in the end.

This is not true for gamers.

If we are denied our weekly gaming fix for too long, we start to exhibit all the same signs of anyone undergoing a withdrawal (well, almost). Irritability, rage, hunger (chips & pop). Some of us may even walk around making dice rolling motions with our empty palms. Sad and despondent expressions develop on our faces as we mope around the house and at work. We carry on our conversations halfheartedly, mumbling along, and sprinkling what words we do spit out with comments regarding Hit Dice, Target Numbers, Strength Tests, Pass the Chips, and so on.

I was unfortunate enough to experience this terrible phenomenon first hand. Even now, five years after the fact, it still gives me chills.

Leaving my small town and small time job to take a position at a now defunct hobby distributor (they were always setting trends ahead of their time), I was giving up everything. Family, nice city, friends, and of course my gaming crew. It was a sad departure, but I knew I was going to take a job with a company that sold RPGs and wargames. I was convinced that finding new players would be as easy as walking around the office.

I couldn't have been more naive. Not a single soul played a game of any sorts. None.

I was devastated. Trying to lure some of them into using one of their products proved quickly futile. I found myself wandering the halls of the warehouse, ogling over the shelves upon shelves of unopened gaming material (not to mention the new product constantly arriving) which I knew were dying for a gamer like me to use them.

As the company began its death throes, turnover become practice, and we hired a new sales rep who was a gamer. We could never hook up for a regular gaming night, but we did get involved in a CCG called Magic: The Gathering (perhaps you've heard of it). That proved to be a good fix, for a time. Like most born and bred roleplayers, however, I still felt somewhat empty inside - I do thank you Jeff, for all the great duels we played.

Then came the letter.

I don't remember exactly when it came, but that day really drove home the fact that I hadn't gamed in months, and that I had a problem.

The letter was from my friend Paul, back in my home town. Besides having the requisite "How are you?" and "things are fine here" stuff, the letter went on to describe a recent gaming session they had held.

The description was quite detailed, and it wasn't difficult for me to visualize the evening in my mind. My old group seated in its rough circle, dice, munchies, and rule books spread about. The expressions of anger and happiness on their faces as the session progressed.

It was a letter I found myself reading over and over again -- daily.

I would relive the letter constantly, adding more details each time it was read. Who was being made fun of; the tangents of conversations breaking from the game; laughing at the fact that I wasn't around to enjoy the game; and so on.

It didn't take me long to realize that I was more than just homesick. I was going through full-fledged game withdrawal. It was riot an easy thing to deal with, as there was little I could do about it. I did not have the time to seek out new gamers, much less get a session going.

Eventually, it came to pass that I was let go from the company, and circumstances conspired to eventually return my family and I back home.

Of course, that also meant that I was able to start gaming again.

I don't remember any of the details of that first session after my return. I was probably too caught up in the mere euphoria of actually being able to sit around the table and feel the cool comfort of those plastic polyhedrals in my hand, and enjoy the banter and just plain fun of playing an RPG.

It was like I had never left.

The lesson that we should all learn here?

Feed your addiction.
As often as you can.
It's good for you.