After yet another calamitous week of desperate chasing, I've decided that I can no longer put myself through this mental torture anymore - as of today, I quit trading forever. Just as it seemed I was starting to get somewhere, after a solid January and marvellous February, I capitulated in the final week of March. I was so desperate to at least match what I did in February (my best ever month) that I started trying to force wins to bump up my profit. I was doing OK but was a few hundred short of hitting 4 figures for a consecutive month. I completely lost sight of the fact that I still had a good total because March only has 4 tournaments (WTA and ATP events for both Miami and Indian Wells) whilst February had 20 events (10 WTA and 10 ATP). I became completely blinkered towards making a grand and started placing bets and getting involved in matches that I didn't need to. After a few smaller reds mounted up, I panicked and tried to recoup on the set betting markets but this ended in catastrophe as I over-staked and lost a whole week's profit in one go. I was now so consumed with rage that I lost the plot, reverting to the lunatic that I was exactly a year ago. It seems I have learnt nothing. A whole year of slow progress became decimated in just a few days, as I chased on the football, something I've not done for many months. The reds just kept piling up and even though I knew I'd hit the self-destruct button, I couldn't stop my reckless risk taking. After a week of almost entirely all-red screens, I was suddenly staring at my worst month for over a year and I snapped. Seething with rage, I whipped out the credit card and emptied what I had left into my account, not as the start of a new bank but as the final spin of the roulette wheel, a final 'all-in' at the poker table - everything on Sharapova to win the Miami WTA final. She was duly pulped.
As I write this, I am just about sobering up. I glugged Jack Daniels down my neck all night to blunt the pain and fired up the blog for one last outpouring. It's been emotional, to say the very least, this year of Centre Court Trading. But I have to face the truth and the truth is that I've not been able to handle the truth - I don't have the mindset for trading and I never will have. Most of us who try trading will have to admit that at some point. Those who don't will go one of two ways; to great success or to their doom as a gambling addict or a failure, ruining their life because they are too stubborn to admit they have failed. I don't want to end up the latter, stuck in a never-ending spiral of debt, emotional turmoil and no social life. I must've aged 10 years in the last 2 years and I want my life back. I want to be in the sunshine, smelling the roses, hanging out with friends in the fresh air, enjoying lazy evenings with the girlfriend, gazing at sunsets and taking moonlit strolls - not bent over a keyboard for 10 hours in a darkened room till 3am, sweating over a Ukranian 17 year old in some back-water South American coastal resort, as she shanks yet another easy forehand into the bottom of the net, causing me to smash my foot into the nearest piece of upholstery for the umpteenth time, roaring with primeval rancour. I've tried my best but my nerves are shot, my head is numb and I'm drained of all emotion. It's time to admit that trading is not for me and end the dream. Goodbye all and thank you for following. I'll leave you with my final ever OFF-COURT BEAUTY, my home country's own Laura Robson: