I Put Myself on the Liquidation Block
At 3:47 a.m., my phone buzzed, dragging me out of my sleep. A notification popped up on the screen: GTC’s 24-hour gain had topped 78%.
I bolted upright, my heart racing—not with excitement, but fear.
Twelve hours earlier, I’d watched GTC surge all the way up from 0.156. At the time, I’d sent a message to my futures trading group: “This coin has gone way too high. It’s bound to pull back. I’m opening a short.” Chen, one of the guys in the group, told me not to be impulsive. He said big money was behind a move like this, and I shouldn’t go against the trend. I didn’t listen. I even thought he was a coward.
GTC hit its high for the day at 0.393. I took a deep breath and opened a 20x leveraged short at 0.38, putting up all 8,000 USDT in my account. I did the math in my head: a mere 5% pullback would make me 4,000. A 10% pullback, and I’d double my money. A pullback? After a rise like that, wasn’t one all but guaranteed?
After placing the trade, I even posted to my social feed: “Just waiting for GTC to drop back to 0.2. Drinks are on me when it does, guys.”
Then I went to sleep.
In my dream, I was still watching the candlestick chart. Green bars were tumbling down one after another, and my short position’s unrealized profit kept growing. I woke up smiling, reached for my phone, and the moment the screen lit up, the smile froze on my face.
GTC: 0.317.
It hadn’t fallen. It had climbed again.
I rubbed my eyes, thinking I must have read it wrong. I refreshed. Still 0.317. I checked my liquidation price, and my heart sank into my stomach. My liquidation price was 0.302, less than 5% away from the current price.
I frantically tried to add more margin, my fingers shaking so badly I could barely tap the screen. I transferred money from my bank card into my futures account—2,000, 3,000, 5,000—throwing it all in. But GTC seemed determined to spite me. Every tick brought it closer to my liquidation line.
0.31. 0.305. 0.303.
I stared at the number like it was a rock perched on the edge of a cliff.
0.302.
A line of text appeared on the screen: “Your position has been liquidated.”
The room fell terrifyingly silent. My original 8,000 USDT, plus the 5,000 I’d thrown in as extra margin—a total of 13,000 USDT—was gone. I sat on the edge of my bed, my phone still glowing in my hand. On the candlestick chart, GTC’s enormous green candle looked like a knife plunged straight into my chest.
Chen sent a message to the group: “I told you not to go against the trend.”
I didn’t reply.
Later, I ran the numbers. If I hadn’t shorted that night and had instead gone long with the trend, using 20x leverage, I could’ve made nearly 60,000 USDT. Sixty thousand. Half a year’s salary.
But there are no “what ifs” in this world. The futures market doesn’t believe in regret, and leverage has no sympathy for tears.
After that day, I deleted my futures account and transferred all the money I had left into spot. Someone asked if I’d ever trade futures again. I stared at GTC’s candlestick chart and stayed silent for a long time.
It’s not that I’m afraid. I’ve finally understood one thing: when you’re up against the market, you’ll never be the smartest person in the room.
At 3:47 a.m., my phone buzzed, dragging me out of my sleep. A notification popped up on the screen: GTC’s 24-hour gain had topped 78%.
I bolted upright, my heart racing—not with excitement, but fear.
Twelve hours earlier, I’d watched GTC surge all the way up from 0.156. At the time, I’d sent a message to my futures trading group: “This coin has gone way too high. It’s bound to pull back. I’m opening a short.” Chen, one of the guys in the group, told me not to be impulsive. He said big money was behind a move like this, and I shouldn’t go against the trend. I didn’t listen. I even thought he was a coward.
GTC hit its high for the day at 0.393. I took a deep breath and opened a 20x leveraged short at 0.38, putting up all 8,000 USDT in my account. I did the math in my head: a mere 5% pullback would make me 4,000. A 10% pullback, and I’d double my money. A pullback? After a rise like that, wasn’t one all but guaranteed?
After placing the trade, I even posted to my social feed: “Just waiting for GTC to drop back to 0.2. Drinks are on me when it does, guys.”
Then I went to sleep.
In my dream, I was still watching the candlestick chart. Green bars were tumbling down one after another, and my short position’s unrealized profit kept growing. I woke up smiling, reached for my phone, and the moment the screen lit up, the smile froze on my face.
GTC: 0.317.
It hadn’t fallen. It had climbed again.
I rubbed my eyes, thinking I must have read it wrong. I refreshed. Still 0.317. I checked my liquidation price, and my heart sank into my stomach. My liquidation price was 0.302, less than 5% away from the current price.
I frantically tried to add more margin, my fingers shaking so badly I could barely tap the screen. I transferred money from my bank card into my futures account—2,000, 3,000, 5,000—throwing it all in. But GTC seemed determined to spite me. Every tick brought it closer to my liquidation line.
0.31. 0.305. 0.303.
I stared at the number like it was a rock perched on the edge of a cliff.
0.302.
A line of text appeared on the screen: “Your position has been liquidated.”
The room fell terrifyingly silent. My original 8,000 USDT, plus the 5,000 I’d thrown in as extra margin—a total of 13,000 USDT—was gone. I sat on the edge of my bed, my phone still glowing in my hand. On the candlestick chart, GTC’s enormous green candle looked like a knife plunged straight into my chest.
Chen sent a message to the group: “I told you not to go against the trend.”
I didn’t reply.
Later, I ran the numbers. If I hadn’t shorted that night and had instead gone long with the trend, using 20x leverage, I could’ve made nearly 60,000 USDT. Sixty thousand. Half a year’s salary.
But there are no “what ifs” in this world. The futures market doesn’t believe in regret, and leverage has no sympathy for tears.
After that day, I deleted my futures account and transferred all the money I had left into spot. Someone asked if I’d ever trade futures again. I stared at GTC’s candlestick chart and stayed silent for a long time.
It’s not that I’m afraid. I’ve finally understood one thing: when you’re up against the market, you’ll never be the smartest person in the room.