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I have lost so much but learned so much about myself. The pastel interface flickers—no, it’s screaming, whispering, winking at me in colors that taste like synthetic cotton candy and sound like a choir of broken modems. Pixelated unicorns jerk and spasmodically shuffle through glitch after glitch, their eyes wide with some secret joke. I can’t remember if I’m clicking or if the interface is clicking me. Numbers coil into candy floss, liquidity pools melt into rainbow sludge, and every time I blink I’m sure I see a tiny hoof tapping out an SOS in the static. Was there ever meaning here? Fundamentals, analysis, rationality—all pulp now, smeared across a digital funhouse mirror. Whispers become giggles become shrieks. I sold everything and got back a ledger of nonsense. Am I laughing or crying? The screen doesn’t care. It winks again, asking if I’ll try one more time, if I’ll jump deeper into the swirling mess of neon delirium. I have nothing left but this feeling, and the feeling is all.