I'm at 23 years old and already being forced by dog whale traders into "selling myself to keep positions alive." How many more years can I even handle this?

23 years old.
At this age, others are interning, dating, saving for down payments.
And me? I'm keeping my positions on life support.
Damn it, I haven't even sold a kidney yet, and I've already packaged up my dignity and sold it.

3 AM in a hotel room, pants halfway up, the wealthy woman just transferred 8,000 USDT to save my liquidated position.
She touches my head and says: "You're still so young and fresh. Next time you blow up, come straight to me, no need to make excuses."
I smile harder than I cry.

23 years old—this should be the time to be full of vigor and ambition. Instead, what I fear most now isn't losing money, it's worrying that next time she'll think I'm too old to be worth anything.

The dog whale traders are grinning ear to ear liquidating at the top.
I'm kneeling at the bottom asking the rich lady for an extension.
Liquidity drained me dry, she wrings me out dry.
Same harvest either way, just more direct as hell.

Now my positions are barely in the green.
But when I look at my phone screen, I don't see a young person—I see some lettuce that's already balding from being drained prematurely.

At 23, I've already learned to trade my body for USDT.
A few more times like this, and I bet I'll have to just go pro as a full-time position-keeping tool.