I 💗Crypto
My Open Letter to Bitcoin
Is this how Taylor Swift’s exes feel?
My Dearest Bitcoin,
Who is the real you?
This letter is to tell you of my gut-churning, insomnia-causing feelings about your unpredictable market behavior. Please read these words like my left ventricle is drizzled in hectares of vulnerability sauce.
One day you are a worthless electronic novelty, and the next, you’re a bulletproof digital asset. Then you crater to Earth as a Greek teenager with feathers melting in the sun. My spirit aches to know which of your personas is authentic.
I empathize with the challenges of enduring an identity crisis. And really, who am I to judge? You should have seen my 90’s skater-punk phase. Bleached blond hair and tent-sized corduroys. ¹
Your indecisive highs and lows — pure pain
If healthy relationships are built on mutual trust and safety, you are a venomous desert lizard poisoning my scrambled eggs. You are a vengeful hippopotamus, a pure herbivore, but drowning other mammals for spite.
My IRA is bankrupt, you fat-faced hippo hurricane!
No, I’m sorry. Lashing out is never right.
You weren’t always this way
When Robin H. introduced us, I thought you were everything I wanted in a partner. As you grew and grew, our interactions were magical. I floated above the Earth, oblivious to the looming disaster. I should have been warier.
We could build a life together, but you aren’t worth the energy. Your blockchain networks use more electricity than a hyperbolic Captain Planet villain.
When you’re up, I feel alive, like the richest man on Earth.
When you‘re down, I’m a broken shell of a man. Am I destined to stay poor forever?
A dilapidated dungeon of emotions engulfs me. I now know how Taylor Swift’s exes suffer.
Your friends are worse
I welcomed Etherium, Dogecoin, and Solana into my kitchen. My attic is squirreled away with meme stocks. Even silly little Shiba Inu played fetch with my innocent children.
Our time together was cuter than a rainbow unicorn pooping cupcake sprinkles.
Then Shiba Inu got rabies, and my financial planner euthanized him.
“It’s for your own good, Mark,” he told me as I cried until my tear ducts bled.
Put the I in “tox_c”
If you were always a toxic lover, I would have given up months ago. Even after all I’ve lost, there are days you give me hope. I see the echo of your spark return when you again step towards the heavens. Are you a phoenix rising from her ashes or a narcissist determined to destroy my soul? ²
My wife says I should “rip off the bandaid.” Scream once and be done with you.
The Crypto-4-Life believers say I’m a stubborn genius for enduring this long.
The ultimatum
I can’t live anymore without knowing your authentic character.
Decide if you are a sound long-term investment. Or are you a get-rich-quick scheme that’s run out of suckers?
Choose forever if you are an angel or a demon. My breaky achy heart can’t live another minute with your mind games. ³
My beloved Bitcoin,
Make up your damn mind.
Footnotes:
¹ The first time my roommate saw the new me, he called campus security, thinking a stranger had broken into our dorm room.
² Not a medical diagnosis. Because I’m not a Doctor.
³ Special thanks to Michael Burg, MD (Satire Sommelier), whose ninja-like editing skills saved this story from grammatical crapitude. Thank you, Doctor Burg!
If you want more terrible financial advice, read:
New to Medium? Want to read unlimited stories by great authors? Join Medium here, and I get some extra pennies.
