Author: Ruibao, Foresight News
Original Title: A Post-00s Girl's Crypto Loss Diary
One summer evening two years ago, a friend parked a brand-new Tesla downstairs and even gave a cheeky honk.
Like me, he hadn't been in the crypto space for long, but he was full of drive, acting like the reincarnation of the 'demon child' with an 'I am the master of my fate' attitude. I hurried downstairs. When he saw me approach, he didn't say much, just casually handed me the keys: "Wanna try?"
I circled the car, itching to drive it, but still played it cool: "Where'd you get the big money? Did you sell yourself?"
He glanced at me, gestured for me to get in, and after a few laps by the river, he started talking: "Finally had a win. Made a bit last month chasing Meme coins, had to reward myself."
Looking at that brand-new Tesla, at that moment, the flame of get-rich-quick dreams inside me was completely ignited.
Back then, the Meme coin frenzy on the Solana chain was at its peak. Scrolling through Twitter every day, you'd see new get-rich-quick scripts: someone puts in a few thousand and comes out with an extra zero (or more) in their account; someone stays up all night watching the charts and earns several years' salary in a week.
As a post-00s, I had just started working and had a few tens of thousands saved in my bank card. Reading these stories, I only had one thought: if others can do it, so can I.
So I took that money and plunged headfirst into this tempting hunting ground. From Meme coins to BTC dollar-cost averaging (DCA), from high-leverage contracts to altcoins, I tried all the mainstream plays in the market.
By the 2026 Spring Festival, I was curled up on the sofa refreshing the price page: BTC price $69,912, my one-year DCA strategy was down 33%.
This year, I failed to replicate any get-rich-quick myth; instead, I became the most real "counter-example" in crypto.
If getting rich requires catching one opportunity, then "not getting rich" is a more profound skill—you need to precisely dodge every single opportunity.
Below is the "dumb money sample" I accumulated this year. For reference only, do not imitate.
Chasing Meme Coins, I Precisely Stepped on Every Dumb Money Trap
When I first entered crypto, I scoffed at phrases like "attention economy." I always thought any asset should have solid value backing it—this was my most basic understanding of "money" as an ordinary person.
But when my friend's car, bought with Meme profits, was parked right in front of me, I wavered.
I began to convince myself: in the face of a trend, personal stubbornness is worthless. Some things, even if you don't understand the logic behind them, can make money for others; and if you don't participate, you're just a spectator. Rather than standing on the sidelines criticizing, it's better to enter the arena and participate.
To replicate my friend's "luck," I stayed up for two whole days researching various "degen" tools: how to set up GMGN alerts... I even made an Excel spreadsheet, recording each new Meme's contract address, Twitter follower count, number of holder addresses...
I thought I was ready.
Then came my "opening disaster"—TRUMP.
It was a classic irrational gamble. I watched the K-line, my heartbeat following the price: entered at a $1.3 billion market cap, got nervous and sold hastily at $1.5 billion; bought back at $1.7 billion, sold again at $1.8 billion, burning through my principal in repeated friction trades; finally went all-in at the peak of $7.8 billion—and never got out.
Looking back, I had only learned how to "buy," but never thought about when to "sell." I was like a cat chasing its own tail, thinking if I ran fast enough, I could catch that tail called "wealth."
Later I realized that participating without a plan was essentially just providing liquidity to the market—to put it nicely, it's an alternative contribution to the industry.
The Most Agonizing Night: 15x Leverage, I Stayed Up Till Dawn
After being schooled by the Meme market, I turned my attention to contracts.
Actually, I'd heard the phrase "contracts are the devil" more than twenty times. The old-timers in the group pleaded earnestly: never touch contracts, it's a "shortcut" to going to zero.
But greed finds its own reasons. My thinking was: volatility brings returns, and returns require risk. Those who get liquidated just don't know how to manage their positions. I'm surely more rational than them.
So I specifically chose altcoin contracts, with leverage set to 15x to 20x. The mindset was微妙 (subtle): setting it too low felt like earning too slowly, setting it too high risked liquidation. I finally picked a middle number, comforting myself that this was "balancing risk."
It wasn't until that all-nighter that I was彻底清醒 (thoroughly awakened).
Around 10 PM, I casually opened a long position on an altcoin, 15x leverage. For the first half hour, the price rose slightly. Lying in bed, I happily calculated: just another 5% up and I can get a new phone.
The next second, the price began to cliff-dive.
The red loss numbers kept flashing, the liquidation price inching closer. I stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The phone screen lit up and dimmed, dimmed and lit up. I refreshed the行情 (market行情 quotes) every 30 seconds. But the K-line never changes based on my will; it just coldly, centimeter by centimeter, approached my liquidation line.
3 AM, I was still refreshing.
5 AM, dawn approaching, staring at the remaining 30% margin, I finally understood one thing: rather than watching my principal shrink, it's better to cut losses and exit. At least I could save some and get some sleep.
The moment I clicked "Close Position," nearly half the money was gone from the account. But strangely, I felt inexplicably relieved. That night, I finally slept soundly.
After that, I started self-studying technical analysis. Looking at K-line patterns, studying MACD, RSI indicators,刷教程 (scouring tutorials), asking friends, trying to find patterns in the market. Progress was indeed made: even when prices fluctuated wildly, I no longer let minor swings dictate my emotions like before.
More importantly, I learned to reduce leverage. Using 3x to 5x leverage to gain breathing room, weathering the market maker's wash trades. Only then did I truly understand: contracts were never the devil; the devil is the compression of承受空间 (bearable fluctuation space) caused by high leverage.
The tool itself is neither good nor bad. Without restraint, blindly chasing high returns, even the best tool becomes a knife that cuts your own flesh.
Turns Out, Altcoins Can Really Go to Zero
If Meme coins made me lose money, and contracts made me lose sleep; then altcoins made me see the cruelest side of crypto.
A few days ago, I saw a 2025 data report: over 85% of tokens issued that year ended with negative returns, a significant portion of which had gone completely to zero. That number instantly brought me back to over half a year ago.
Back then, I held a coin called Frag—not a major project, just something I bought casually. At first, I watched it bleed out slowly, down 20%, 30%, 50% from my buy-in price. Logically, I should have cut losses, but there was always a voice in my head: "Wait a bit longer, what if it bounces back?"
By the time it was down 60%, I couldn't be bothered to look. I thought: just treat it like a lottery ticket, let it sit, it's only 100U left anyway, going to zero is fine. Even on the day it crashed 42% in a single day, I joked with a friend: "It's fine, if it goes to zero, consider it buying me bubble tea."
I truly believed then that "altcoins going to zero" was just a crypto meme—surely even the worst would have some residual value, right? It can't just vanish completely, can it?
Until one day I opened my wallet and found that coin had彻底归零 (completely gone to zero).
The team rug-pulled, liquidity was pulled. I stared at the wallet page for half a minute, refreshing repeatedly, but all that remained was "zero."
Although it was a small amount of money, it taught me one thing: maintain a bone-deep敬畏 (awe/reverence) for the market.
When market sentiment fades, when the market makers leave, those altcoins with no real value, relying solely on hype, their final destination is the bottom. The "bottom line" you imagine might just be a thin layer of ice on the edge of a cliff.
One Year in Crypto, Didn't Get Rich, But Gained a Few Stepping Stones
In the summer of 2024, my friend's new car ignited my fantasies about crypto. I entered with expectations, always feeling I could be that lucky one.
During the 2026 Spring Festival, curled up on the sofa looking at the screen full of red loss numbers, I finally accepted my ordinariness: getting rich quick isn't that easy.
But this year wasn't all losses. If I had to say what I accumulated, it's probably these few "stepping stones":
First, always respect the market; don't challenge it with your own认知 (perception/cognition).
Blinded by envy of my friend's car, I rashly jumped into Meme coins;迷信 (superstitiously believing) in "DCA and win lying down," I rigidly applied strategies, and was ultimately狠狠教育 (severely taught a lesson) by the market. The market doesn't care about your reasons; it only gives you the numbers.
Second, for any investment, think clearly about "when to sell."
Buying is just the beginning of investing; selling is what determines profit or loss. All the losses this year were essentially because I didn't establish my own rules for taking profits and cutting losses. Buying based on FOMO, selling based on emotion, operating on feeling, ultimately leads to more losses than gains.
Third, tools are neither good nor bad; greed lies in the human heart; learning克制 (restraint) is what makes a winner.
Contracts aren't the devil; the greed for high leverage is; DCA isn't a guaranteed win strategy; the stubbornness of sticking rigidly to it is. Tools are just tools; the person using them determines the outcome.
Fourth, cherish cash flow, cherish your chips.
Get-rich-quick stories in crypto are always the minority. No matter how the numbers jump on the exchange, we ultimately return to real life—that bowl of rice, that bottle of water, that pack of tissues, that's real life.
Yesterday afternoon, I was curled up on the sofa, phone screen still lit with the market page.
My mom popped her head out from the kitchen: "Dumplings for dinner, leek and egg filling."
I was stunned for a second, almost条件反射 (reflexively) replying "leek" is a sensitive word for me now. (Note: "韭菜" leek is slang for dumb money/retail investors in Chinese)
But I didn't say it. I just turned off the trading app and got up to go into the kitchen.
The numbers on the exchange are still jumping. But at this moment, I just want to help my mom make dumplings.
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