When that red candle came crashing down, I was staring blankly at my phone screen.
At 3:17 a.m., TIA had been plunging from over a dollar, its candlesticks like a kite with a snapped string, dropping straight toward 0.57. The group chat had already gone into meltdown. Someone shouted, “It’s over—the team has run off!” Someone else posted a long string of crying emojis, while another quietly shared a liquidation screenshot: a 50x long position, 30,000 USDT, gone in an instant.
I had 2,000 USDT in spare cash, which I’d been saving to pay next month’s rent.
My finger hovered over the screen, trembling for three seconds. 0.58, 0.575, 0.573. I closed my eyes and bought at market with my entire balance. All 2,000 USDT went into TIA. At that moment, there was only one thought in my mind: either I turn things around, or I’m left with nothing.
After buying, there was no way I could sleep. Every few minutes, I checked the price. It kept dipping, hitting a low of 0.5732. I started calculating: if it fell to 0.30, my 2,000 USDT would shrink to less than 700— not even enough to buy a ticket home. If it went to zero, I’d truly have nothing left.
By dawn, the price began to rebound. 0.59, 0.61, 0.63. I stared at the screen, my heart pounding like it was about to leap out of my throat. The people in the group chat who’d been yelling “They’ve run off!” the night before started changing their tune: “Just a technical pullback. Totally normal.” I said nothing. I simply placed my phone face down on the table and went to work.
That day felt like a year. I zoned out during meetings, sneaked glances at my phone while eating, and didn’t even hear my coworkers calling me. At 3 p.m., TIA reached 0.68. By 8 p.m., it was at 0.71. I opened my account and saw that my 2,000 USDT had grown to nearly 2,500.
But I knew it wasn’t over yet.
The next morning, the price surged to 0.7233. I took a deep breath and sold everything. My 2,000 USDT had become more than 2,800—a net profit of 800. Someone in the group chat asked, “Boss, how did you know it would go up?” I smiled and didn’t answer. The truth was, I didn’t know anything. I’d just taken a gamble.
TIA later fell again. Some people said I was lucky; others said I was a genius. But only I know that when I went all in that night, my hands were shaking, my heart was cold, and my eyes were hot with tears.
In crypto trading, it’s not about who makes the most money. It’s about who can still press that buy button at their most desperate moment.
Of course, I also know that next time, I might not be so lucky.
#TIA #抄底 #CryptoStories
At 3:17 a.m., TIA had been plunging from over a dollar, its candlesticks like a kite with a snapped string, dropping straight toward 0.57. The group chat had already gone into meltdown. Someone shouted, “It’s over—the team has run off!” Someone else posted a long string of crying emojis, while another quietly shared a liquidation screenshot: a 50x long position, 30,000 USDT, gone in an instant.
I had 2,000 USDT in spare cash, which I’d been saving to pay next month’s rent.
My finger hovered over the screen, trembling for three seconds. 0.58, 0.575, 0.573. I closed my eyes and bought at market with my entire balance. All 2,000 USDT went into TIA. At that moment, there was only one thought in my mind: either I turn things around, or I’m left with nothing.
After buying, there was no way I could sleep. Every few minutes, I checked the price. It kept dipping, hitting a low of 0.5732. I started calculating: if it fell to 0.30, my 2,000 USDT would shrink to less than 700— not even enough to buy a ticket home. If it went to zero, I’d truly have nothing left.
By dawn, the price began to rebound. 0.59, 0.61, 0.63. I stared at the screen, my heart pounding like it was about to leap out of my throat. The people in the group chat who’d been yelling “They’ve run off!” the night before started changing their tune: “Just a technical pullback. Totally normal.” I said nothing. I simply placed my phone face down on the table and went to work.
That day felt like a year. I zoned out during meetings, sneaked glances at my phone while eating, and didn’t even hear my coworkers calling me. At 3 p.m., TIA reached 0.68. By 8 p.m., it was at 0.71. I opened my account and saw that my 2,000 USDT had grown to nearly 2,500.
But I knew it wasn’t over yet.
The next morning, the price surged to 0.7233. I took a deep breath and sold everything. My 2,000 USDT had become more than 2,800—a net profit of 800. Someone in the group chat asked, “Boss, how did you know it would go up?” I smiled and didn’t answer. The truth was, I didn’t know anything. I’d just taken a gamble.
TIA later fell again. Some people said I was lucky; others said I was a genius. But only I know that when I went all in that night, my hands were shaking, my heart was cold, and my eyes were hot with tears.
In crypto trading, it’s not about who makes the most money. It’s about who can still press that buy button at their most desperate moment.
Of course, I also know that next time, I might not be so lucky.
#TIA #抄底 #CryptoStories