Note from Tim: Nearly seven years ago, Market Sniper (“Dutch”) wrote a piece called The Very Last Day in One Trader’s Life, a personal tale. In a similar vein, another Sloper, whom has requested anonymity, offers up this autobiographical tale (unlike Dutch’s, which was about a friend), and I am grateful for this thoughtful contribution. I usually embellish posts, including those from outside contributors, with graphics to make them more interesting and approachable, but I am leaving this as an unadorned essay, as originally submitted:

Let’s talk about something dark. Something really dark. This may not be appropriate for a trading blog. This is a story about suicide. A very personal story about failed life expectations, great loss, and how nice guys finish last.

Ever since age 16, I was driven. I had high life goals, school was easy, grades were high, and life was high. Life came easy. I was born with a silver spoon. My parents were not super rich, but very conservative and had zero debt with enough savings to give their children every advantage they could. When I was old enough to drive, my dad gave me a 1979 Chevy. It was an old beater, it didn’t impress girls, but it was mine. I was proud of it. The Chevy taught me a lot about life. I always had a pair of jumper cables handy since that battery was always dead. A lesson, I had not yet realized the importance. There is always option B when things look dire. A backup plan.

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