God, are you there?

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Hi.

Are you there? Can you stay for a moment? I know you’re really busy, but just for a few minutes tonight I want to feel like I’m not alone.

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The stars are so pretty.

It’s nice to think that maybe they were made for me to gaze at while I lie flat on my back, broken and aching from the wild fall to rock bottom.

 

I hope you don’t mind my sobbing, I hope you still think I’m worth it and that I can do it.

I know the toughest battles are for your strongest people and I still want to be part of that elite.

But just for a moment, can I have you? Can I feel you? Because I’m really scared.


 

I try to understand myself as I go through the motions. I believe the only way I can herald on was to find out exactly what made my chest unresponsive to all my efforts to make it feel lighter. Everyday felt like the universe found its way to me, spinning inside of my ribs, sewing around my bones, resting on my heart, sitting on my lungs.

I can’t breathe but I march on. Until one morning, I think I found out. I’ve been scared for a long time now that it made itself default. When did it start? I was a hopeful trooper in the beginning with passion so fiery and dreams so high.

Now I’m always scared.

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Back then, as a kid, I was the kind of person who seemed to have every thing under her control. I made straight A’s without trying and I was on top of every org. Excellence was expected of me, I didn’t know what failure looked like.

I remember reading a comment on one article about children who sailed through the academe. One mother expressed her worries that her child was exactly that and she worries about the day when it was no longer exams that her little girl will have to take– but the cruel reality of life.

I understand what that means now. When I did something great, every one nodded in boring anticipation, oh but when I started to fail did it cause uproar.

I’m scared of almost all the possibilities in my life. I’m scared of status quo, staying in the path that I am currently on. I don’t want to and I can’t. It’s no longer even an option. There must be something more to life than this, my managers, and my bills. This dreary existence!

And then I’m scared of the future too. Scared of never recovering my losses. Scared of never growing to my full potential. Scared of giving up in the process. I’m scared of the bad days. I’m scared of constantly having to prove to myself that I made the right decision.

The successful ones must be a little crazy to do this. There is no way you would fight on with one of your shoulders dislocated and your eyes puffed black-and-blue from the punches without even a tinge of madness.


 

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“Hey, Zee, are you there?” I messaged him.

“Yes, anything?” He replied back.

 

 

I didn’t know what to ask. I don’t want to sound needy. At a perspective, and at a kinder judgment, my progress has been quite phenomenal– even if it didn’t reflect my port yet.

I think I’m starting to think like him. We spend a lot of time talking, and I’ve started to reflect his thoughts and ideas.

On a side note, have you ever wondered what part of you another person starts to reflect?

One time, we bought the same stock. I told him after market hours and he told me he did the same. I was so glad for a moment, but the general looming anxiety still stayed.

After tinkering with my thoughts, I asked if he ever felt sad this way before. “Did you feel anxiety? Did you feel depressed?” Careful not to make him think way too much about how wounded I feel.

“Yes. In 2012, after a staggering amount of losses almost every negative emotion was there.”

I suppose that was great to hear. I heard it again and again. It’s normal, that’s the process, that’s what you need to get through. After some time, all the motivational quotes and videos will start to sound the same. It won’t rub you the same way it first did, and I’m already at that point. I have to keep at it without the extra push.

It’s not fair to think that my tenacity to try and fail made me feel like I was more of a failure than anyone around me. I looked at honest assessment at my environment and realized these people didn’t even feel like the stupid, ignorant human being that I am who failed spectacularly at trying to fulfill a dream.

Why is it that way? Why do I feel more like a failure versus those who never knew what it is to actually fight?

A man spends his savings on a business with wild dreams to make it, and then his endeavor fails. It closes shop. The economy just wasn’t right. He was a ragged pitiful sight compared to another man who stayed on his lane and tried to live on his pension.

The world is crueler to visionaries because they relish on the satisfaction that anyone who tried harder and risked higher than them, don’t win. Should I have just bought blue chips?

Was it stupid that I tried?

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Losses are psychologically scarring. In a way, it shapes you. Victory is such a lousy, lousy teacher. You don’t learn anything in winning, specially a smooth and easy one.

One night, all alone, I felt it reach to me. The world was sitting on my chest again, I couldn’t breathe.

I started crying, bawling like a baby, so loud I hope the neighbors don’t hear me. Embarrassing and weak. I prayed and I begged, I didn’t know what for exactly, but I just didn’t want to feel the way I felt anymore. “God, please? Please? Please?” I just wanted to be okay. When will I be okay?

 

I reeked of failure and disappointment. I could almost smell it. It became so physical that I felt disgusted with the way my hair smells. After a while, I decided to stand up and shower. “At least, if I smell of vanilla, I would be better because failure rarely smells of vanilla.” I thought as I scrubbed and lathered myself on the shower almost as if I could wash it all away.

Stepping out of the curtains, I gave myself a hard look. I looked pathetic. My eyes were puffy, my lips swollen. I wonder if everyone looked like this after hours of hard crying.

I was almost scared to re-enter my room. Convinced that the devil heard me cry and he was waiting on my bed, ready to give me a deal out of my desperation in exchange for my soul.

But he wasn’t there.

All I want is to be okay again. To know that I am safe. To have all my sacrifices materialize and hey, maybe tell me that it was all worth it. I want to know that one day, for sure, I’ll tell myself “See? I told you. You’ll be okay. All those worrying was pointless!”

I confess I was starting to hate trading, even when I make progress and that floods me with guilt the most.

Every one wrote a success story book AFTER they made it. By that time, they can’t remember the blow-by-blow account of how difficult and grisly the process was. They forget the nitty-gritty. They forget the nights they lie on their bed doubting themselves for the hundredth time that week.

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No one told me it was going to be this hard. It’s difficult on the psyche. When I succeed would I still hate myself? Will I ever be happy? I forgot how that felt like, when anxiety no longer dances around me, lacing his fingers around my heart.

I have no right to feel this way. I am in such better conditions than almost every one else. I’m blessed to a point of extremity that I think I’ve stripped my right to complain. But I wonder how other people make it in here so easily, so much smoother than I do? What’s wrong with me?

 

Suddenly, I’m the person who lagged behind and someone else was topping the class with ease and grace. They’re the ones befuddled with my struggles, looking at me, wondering, “How could she find it so difficult?”

The tables have turned.

Is it wrong that I even tried? I was starting to hate it and fear it.

Anxiously, I asked him again. I didn’t want my presence to feel too heavy or his mentorship feel too much work. I always thought that my emotions are mine to handle, his only part is to teach me his ways. But I have to know, I really have to.

“Did you ever start hating it or fearing it?”

He didn’t take a long time to reply. “Yes.”

And with that, relief spread all over me. I felt better. A small fire stayed alive surviving the winter inside my chest.

Maybe one day, I’ll be okay, I just have to get through this night.


 

Months ago, late at night, I just realized what Zee did. That’s crazy. Can you believe what he did? He was in his early 20’s, quit his job, gathered investors, then traded 3rd liners and exotics with it.

He lost that money. It was not hundreds of thousands. It was millions!

He then proceeded to do it all over again.

Madness! I burst out laughing how funny it was to be tinged with that kind of insanity. I messaged him and said, “You know, you’re crazy, but I’m glad you are the way you are.”

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I think, maybe, I’m a little crazy too.

This laborious process of trying to recoup my losses and trading. Picking myself up one too many times after getting hit.

 

But one day, maybe, you would tell me, “Hey, Celeste. You must be crazy. But I’m glad you are the way you are.” because like he was to me, I want to be to you too…

Hope.

 

 

 

 

 

Forever yours,

Celeste

Sometimes all we need is someone to believe in us when we don’t.

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