"Told her I'm good..." (Lie.)

I hadn’t slept in 36 hours.

Not because I was out partying. Not because of night shifts.
I just couldn’t sleep—my whole life was hanging on one stupid trade.
One trade I knew I shouldn’t have taken.

The market was brutal. Charts looked like they were laughing at me.
MetaTrader open on my laptop. Binance running on my phone.
Both telling the same story:
Losses.
Slow, steady losses that were eating more than just my money. They were chewing at my brain.

Then my phone rang.
“Mom.”

Her name lit up the screen like a reminder—
There’s still a world outside this mess.
Still people who think I’m okay.

I hesitated. Picked up.

“Marc, how are you?”

My throat felt dry.

“I’m fine.”

Lie.

Three days ago, I had already gotten a call that messed with my head.
My baby mama.

She sounded tired, but she didn’t sugarcoat it.

“Marc… Orlando’s consulting again. I need money for food, and for myself. You haven’t sent anything in weeks…”

I didn’t even let her finish. I ended the call.

Not because I didn’t care.
But because I cared too much.
And I didn’t have the strength to hear more.

That call opened a floodgate in my mind—
Bills I had been avoiding came rushing in.

Rent.
Unpaid hospital bills.
Water, electricity, phone.
Even random subscriptions I forgot I had.

And on top of that, I had no money left to trade with.
Nothing.

Trading was supposed to be my way out.
My safety net. My hustle.
I had a plan, a proper strategy.
But I panicked. I messed it up.

A friend told me he was “milking the market.”
Showed me profits. Sent screenshots.
I believed him. Followed his lead.

Biggest mistake of the month.

I overleveraged.
My stop losses were weak.
My entries were off.
I wasn’t trading anymore—I was gambling.

And I was gambling with borrowed money.
I took out loans—multiple ones.
From brokers. From the bank.
Lied about everything.

Now I was in deep.

Twelve hours before the crash, I was still glued to the screen.
Red candles everywhere. My setup bleeding.
I wasn’t thinking straight. Just staring.
Hoping.

I should’ve closed the trade and walked away.
But I told myself I needed the money.

There was nothing to eat. Rent was overdue.
My bank account was empty.
And people around me still thought I was “managing.”

Around 12:30 a.m., I looked again.
Some green candles had started showing.
It looked like things were turning.

I told myself—just hold on for twelve more hours.
Maybe this trade would save everything.

And for a moment, it looked like it would.

The green stayed. The balance grew.
Hope crept back in.
I actually smiled.

Then came greed.

It whispered:
“Stay a little longer. Don’t pull out yet. Let it grow.”

So I did.

Twelve more hours.

I should’ve exited.

But I stayed.

And when I came back...

Everything was gone.

All of it.

Like it was never there to begin with.

No money. No equity. No second chance.
Just an empty screen.
And a sinking feeling in my chest I can’t even describe.

That’s when Mom called.

“Marc, how are you?”

And I said—
“I’m fine.”

Lie.

Because I wasn’t fine.

I was tired.
Ashamed.
Not just because I lost money—
But because I lied to people who believed in me.

I gambled with more than cash.
I gambled with my responsibilities.
With people’s trust.
With my future.

Now all I can do is sit in the silence.
Phone in my hand.
Laptop closed.
No charts. No noise.

Just me.

Thinking about everything I messed up.

And wondering if they’ll ever know the truth.

If they’ll ever understand—

I wasn’t fine.