I still remember that moment clearly. It wasn't the feeling of panic as the market plummeted, nor the anticipation and excitement. It was a strange feeling... like all my strength was drained in just a few seconds. I opened the futures app out of habit, planning to just take a quick look. But then I saw the number. Negative. Not a small negative. But a number large enough to make you want to close your eyes. I froze, staring at the screen as if I was looking at something that wasn't mine. In my mind, only one simple but painful question: "What did I just do?"

Actually, I didn't lose everything in a single day. I lost gradually, day by day, through a series of uncontrollable decisions. In the beginning, I was still confident. Still caught a few good waves, still had winning trades that made me feel "okay." But then the market turned its back. A losing trade. Then another. That’s when the bitterness started. And I entered a cycle that any trader knows: lose → want to recover → re-enter → lose again → want to recover more. That’s when I realized what life is — it’s not about the wins, but about how you handle the losses.

There were times I sat in front of the screen with no feeling at all. No analysis, no patience, no waiting for setups. I just watched the price move and felt I had to do something. If I didn’t enter a trade, I’d miss the chance to "turn things around." I entered trades faster, looking at the chart with a different mindset — not to find a good entry point, but to find a way out. That’s when I knew: I was no longer trading, I was just hoping. Futures didn’t make me lose money first; it made me lose my composure first.

Holding a position is the slowest way to kill myself. I held not because I believed in my analysis, but because I hoped. Hope it would bounce back, hope the market would be kind, hope for a candle that would save me. That feeling is like being underwater — you know you should swim up but still hold your breath longer, believing that in a few seconds, everything will be fine. But futures doesn’t give you those seconds.

Strangely, the green days are no longer joyful. I just breathe a sigh of relief. Like being pushed to the brink and then released a little to be pushed again. I became addicted to the feeling of "recovering part of it," and that’s what kept me going. I no longer traded to make money. I traded because I couldn’t stand the feeling of losing.

But the worst part isn’t the negative account balance. It’s the moment I look back at my trading history and feel fear — fear of myself. I see myself entering trades without reason. Entering just to recover. Trusting luck more than discipline. Late-night chart checks, waking up and immediately checking prices, even during meals. Trading no longer feels like a job; it becomes an obsession.

When I see that loss number, I don’t hurt because of the money. I hurt because of the truth — I did that to myself. No one forced me. I pressed the button. I broke my discipline. That’s when I realized futures isn’t a place for those lacking control. It doesn’t need you to be stupid. It just needs you to lose your composure once.

The biggest lesson: Futures doesn’t kill you because you don’t know how to analyze. It kills you because you can’t control yourself. The chart isn’t scary. Leverage isn’t scary. The scariest thing is the emotion when you’re losing. Because when you’re losing, you’re no longer a trader. You become someone trying to prove they’re right. And that’s when the market takes everything away.

Life is about choices — that’s what it is. I write this not to complain, but to remind myself ( and everyone trading futures): You can win many trades. But just one phase of losing control, and everything you’ve earned can disappear so quickly you won’t even understand what just happened. And sometimes, what you lose isn’t just money, but your peace of mind.