#我的Gate交易时刻

On the day of liquidation, I lost two years' worth of savings.

March 19, 2026, 2:00 AM. Bitcoin's price dropped 12% within half an hour. The 200k yuan principal in my account, along with 3x leverage, vanished into thin air. When the margin call notification popped up, I was holding a cup of coffee, sitting in front of my computer, fingers still hovering over the keyboard, ready to add to my position during the rebound. That scene was like a frozen frame from a movie, still painfully clear—candlesticks closed at $86,432, my stop-loss order never executed because the market gapped past my set price, slipping through with a slippage.

That order was my fifth consecutive "bottom fishing." The first four times, I used 10% of my position each, with stop-losses around 5%, limiting losses to a few thousand yuan. But on the fifth time, I was "convinced" this was the true bottom, bet all remaining funds, and added extra leverage. When I entered, I messaged a friend saying, "This wave should at least hit 100k." Four hours later, I didn't even have the strength to reply.

In the 72 hours after liquidation, I fell into the classic "revenge trading" trap. On Thursday, the market rebounded, and I immediately chased the long, going all-in. But in the afternoon, a regulatory news piece crushed the price back down, and I cut my losses, losing 30k yuan. On Friday, I switched to shorting, but the market V-shaped reversed, forcing me to stop out again. In just three days, I made 47 trades, with fees and slippage eating up over 20k yuan of my last remaining principal, leaving my account with less than 30k. At that point, I completely lost judgment; every order felt like a fight with the market, staring at 5-minute candlesticks back and forth, like a dog tethered to the行情.

The turning point came late on the fourth night. I slumped in my chair, exported all my trading records, and used Excel to analyze a set of numbers that sent chills down my spine: out of 47 trades, only 11 were profitable, with a win rate of 23%, but total profit was only 8,000 yuan; among the 36 losses, 8 exceeded 10k, with the largest being that liquidation order—200k yuan. In other words, I was numbing myself with frequent small gains, but a few big losses had destroyed everything.

I began forcing myself to do something I previously looked down on: write a trading journal. Before each trade, I had to answer three questions: What is the maximum loss? What percentage of my principal is that? If the market moves against me, what is my response? At first, I could hardly place orders because most impulsive ideas were rejected at the first hurdle—I hadn’t even calculated how much I could lose.

Gradually, I built a clumsy but effective system. First, risk per trade was limited to 1.5% of total funds, meaning I could lose at most 4,500 yuan per trade (based on 30k yuan initial capital). Second, I limited myself to three trades per day; after two losses, I would forcefully shut down. Third, I conducted a weekly overall drawdown assessment; if weekly losses exceeded 5%, I would cut my position in half the following week.

These rules sounded rigid, but they saved me. After a month, my principal recovered to 60k yuan (with some salary top-ups), though only 30% of the original, but for the first time, I felt in control. The most obvious change was that when prices suddenly plunged, I no longer panicked and checked my account profit and loss; instead, I first checked whether my stop-loss was triggered—because that was the loss I had already calculated and accepted when opening the position. This mental composure allowed me to calmly execute my original plan, even securing better exit points during some volatile sideways markets.

I began to re-understand the phrase "long-termism." In the past, I saw it as a motivational cliché, thinking it just meant holding on without moving. Now I understand, long-termism isn’t about obsession with a certain direction, but about the pursuit of longevity in trading. You’ll never leave the market because of a small loss, but you might never recover from a big one. So, the implementation of long-termism is risk control—treat every trade as a small step in an infinite game, not chasing quick profits, but ensuring you can stay at the table forever.

Today, I still have less than 100k yuan in my account, but my trading frequency has dropped to 3-5 trades per week, with maximum drawdown kept within 6%. I set the screenshot of that liquidation day as my desktop wallpaper, with three words next to it: "Stay alive, slow down, don’t be greedy." The market creates myths every day, and every day buries gamblers. I clearly know I can’t become a myth, but I will never be buried again.

That extreme market taught me not just technical skills, but a very simple truth: you can never control the market, but you can control the size of your bets each round. Control your chips, and you control your fear; control your fear, and you earn the right to talk about profits. It’s that simple.