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Guangxi guy, 26 years old, two-year contract: from a liquidation performance artist to an emotional management master In 2024, at 24, I first got into the crypto world in a rental in Nanning. Back then, my salary was just over 4,000, after paying rent, my pockets were emptier than my face was clean. Seeing people in the group showing off contract profits, making in one day what I earned in a month, I thought: isn’t this the tailor-made path to getting rich for me? Looking back now, it was a tailor-made path to liquidation. I started with spot trading, made a few hundred yuan, but thought it was too slow. Then I moved to contracts, doubled my money in the first week. That feeling was like riding an electric bike downhill without being able to brake—thrilling, but bound to crash sooner or later. Then I began the standard newbie routine: leverage up, chase highs and sell lows, hold losing positions, add margin, get liquidated, then deposit more money. Liquidation notifications were more punctual than my mom waking me up. At my wildest, I used high leverage, watching K-lines at 3 a.m. The red glow from my phone hit my face like a horror movie scene. When liquidation hit, my fingers trembled, and my mind had only one thought: deposit one more time, recover everything in one trade. But recovery never came; credit cards and online loans arrived first. I owed 132,750 in total, tried every borrowing and cashing method I could. Relatives saw crypto as pyramid schemes + gambling + the worst kind of unfilial behavior. My dad was silent on the phone for a long time, then said, "Come back, working in a factory is fine too." Friends initially advised me, then bluntly said, "Wake up, even screwing bolts is better than this." My girlfriend left too; she said she couldn’t see a future. I said the future was in the K-line; she said there was no me in the K-line. At my worst, I had only 37 yuan on me, owed two months’ rent, eating plain porridge and pickled vegetables every day. During the humid season, walls leaked water, bedding was damp; I suspected even the walls lived better than me. I didn’t dare go home for New Year, lied to my mom saying I was working overtime. She asked, "Are you out of money?" I gritted my teeth and said no. After hanging up, tears kept falling. Every phone ring scared me, fearing it was debt collectors. Looking at liquidation records, I even thought about whether jumping into the Yong River would be a release. But I didn’t jump. Because the Yong River wind was too strong, I was afraid of catching a cold, and afraid of making my mom cry. Later, I realized one thing: I wasn’t trading at all, I was gambling. Gambling on direction, gambling on news, gambling on luck. I deleted the words "break even" from my mind, found a night shift job, and reviewed trades during the day. At first, I only used a very small part of my salary for trading, leverage so low that friends said, "You call this contracts? This is like a money market fund." Every trade had to have a stop loss, cutting losses before it hurt. I kept a trading journal: Why enter? Because of itchy hands. What was wrong? Everything. What’s my emotional level now? 1: want to open a position, 2: really want to open a position, 3: want to sell a kidney to open a position. At level 2, I shut down the computer. The hardest part wasn’t learning strategies, it was controlling my hands. Seeing others’ profit screenshots made me itch to trade. Deleted the app, reinstalled it, deleted it again, like a dieter sneaking midnight snacks of old friend noodles. Later, I forced myself to run every day, and after reviewing trades, I shut down the computer. Gradually, from losing, to not losing, to small profits. In two years, I paid off my debts, and my account touched six figures for the first time. Not by one 100x trade, but by dozens of small wins, a few big wins, and countless times resisting the urge to trade. Relatives still don’t understand, but they no longer call me crazy. I know contracts aren’t a path for ordinary people to turn their lives around; it’s a one-in-nine chance of survival. I’m writing this to tell you: surviving in this market is the only qualification to talk about the future. $BTC $ETH $ZEC