You failed

So, here you are too.

In the end, you stayed. Somehow, you failed.

You made mistakes, this was supposed to be your last cycle, your final round, but here you are.

That friend of yours, the one who wouldn’t stop spamming “Solana shitters at 12k” , he doesn’t even read the messages anymore.

Your favorite chat is silent now, like a battlefield after the storm.

Your plans — all of them — shattered to pieces.

For a fleeting moment, it felt as though the earth slipped from under your feet. You even toyed with the thought of ending it all.

And yet, something still holds you here.

You haven’t figured out if it’s addiction — gambling addiction — or some twisted form of resilience.

It can’t be only addiction, you don’t even have money left to gamble.

You talk about finding a job, about finding a better-paying one.

You speak to yourself of redemption, of getting back on track.

But deep down, you know: you’ve betrayed your own expectations, and those of your family.

The only moment of real peace is when you turn off your phone, lay down, and close your eyes.

Everyone sleeps the same way, horizontal, under blankets.

In the dark, we are all equals.

No one is rich in sleep.

If you think about it, for eight hours a day, we are all the same. Cars, watches, suits, nothing matters there.

Then morning comes.

Your mind wakes before you do, and the thoughts start crawling in.

Where did I go wrong? Why did I do it?

You open Twitter.

Someone’s flaunting a win, someone else is on the verge of breaking down.

You feel empty.

Lost.

You think of that influencer who promised you Popcat at 50B, and it never came. What a joke.

Someone swore AI memecoins were the future.

Someone’s sharing Virtual and Fartcoin charts,

Turns out they weren’t.

There’s no way out.

Outside, the sun shines as if nothing happened.

And, strangely, it’s not so bad.

You decide to take a walk, to clear your head.

You start wondering: What if I became normal again?

A simple life;

dinner with family, a bit of Masterchef, bed before midnight.

Maybe that’s not so bad, after all. Maybe that’s doable.

Maybe you can start over.

You try.

You start living this new life.

But like a magnet, something pulls you back.

Without even realizing it, you open Twitter again.

Muppet is posting another losing long,

BasedKarbon is mocking the golden bull run,

Solstice is still chasing the next shitter.

Someone tells you to stop eating carbs, another swears you can cure cancer with supplements.

Everyone has a role in this bizarre theater called CryptoTwitter.

And you?

What’s your role now?

Are you really going to leave like this, like a loser?

You check your bank account.

Yeah, maybe you are. Maybe there’s no other way.

You live a week like a "normal" person.

You taste food again — really taste it.

You read a book without reaching for your phone every ten seconds.

You watch a whole movie, no pauses, no checking charts in between.

It hasn’t happened in years.

And, honestly, it’s not so bad.

Maybe you’ve really quit.

But then, one morning, you wake up.

And out of nowhere, something strikes you, like Saint Paul on the road to Damascus.

You realize something, something so simple, yet so powerful:

You are not a loser. You never were.

Someone on Twitter shares a list of books about trading psychology.

You open Amazon.

Forty dollars.

What’s the worst that could happen?

You buy it.

A few days later, the doorbell rings.

You grab a knife, slice the box open along the tape.

You tear the plastic off the book,

and the scent of fresh pages stirs something inside you,

something you thought was gone.

You open the book, somewhere in the middle, at random.

You stare at a page, lost in the words.

You lift your head.

Turn towards the window.

And in that moment, you understand:

It’s not over.