My daily trudge through this world is driven solely by my outright contempt for others.
Fuck them for being happy. Fuck them for “getting it.” Whether or not their means of being content are justified, whether or not they’ve earned it, whether or not they’re legitimately good people, whether or not they’ve been given less support than I’ve been lucky enough to receive. Fuck them.
I fantasize constantly about events that leave people with nothing. I think about nukes. I think about natural disasters. I think about plague. I don’t even feel like a victim. Those who’ve wronged me garner no more ire than those who’ve been good to me.
The singular purpose of my life is spite. But it’s good to have a reason to be.
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Do you believe that most people are happy while you have become the castaway?