I think back on all my childhood memories and I wonder if I am just unnaturally lucky. I would go about life as normal and seemingly out of nowhere, it would turn out I’ve committed absolutely massive blunders wherein I would be punished.

I feel I am still a victim of this constantly.

For example, I recently set the parking brake on my parent’s car when it was in the garage. I went into the car to retrieve some items, and when I was in the driver’s seat, I absentmindedly set the ebrake (it’s a foot pedal type). I don’t even know why, it was probably instinctual, or perhaps I was worried about the car rolling off the garage. Now my mother is texting me, angry at me for having almost destroyed the car, since they drove on the ebrake without knowing it was on.

Now they are white-hot furious at me, and will now assume I had either tried to destroy their car out of spite, or worse, tried to cause a car accident. It was not my intention at all, but somehow, I am cursed to inflict pain and misery on others because of my nature.
I feel angry at myself and guilty that I could’ve caused an accident. I feel completely powerless that no matter what I do, no matter my intentions, or how safe I am trying to be, it is inevitable that anything I do can spiral into complete catastrophe and disaster.
That would make a great comic book character: The Unfortunate Rake. Cursed so that everything he does leads to massive disasters.
Now more than ever I am convinced the universe hates me.

Naturally, the haters will have more fuel to add to their litany of grievances against me. I don’t want to give off the impression that I feel I don’t deserve all the misery inflicted upon me by the haters. I genuinely despise myself, and consider myself an ugly narcissistic worm who mopes about its feelings too much. But I reserve the right to complain about it, because that is the power I have.

It stands to reason that if the universe has contrived it so that I suffer in pathetic and ignoble ways, it would tailor it so that I deserve to suffer, that the suffering is my fault and I am deserving of it, since people who suffer without cause and unjustly are martyrs and honorable people, and I am anything but. You do not pity a roach or a slimy worm, you crush it under your heel, and you would feel nothing.

Perhaps it is a moral failing, another weakness on my part that I do not fully embrace the suffering the haters inflict on me, and let them deal their blows without a word of complaint. Maybe it is just a survival instinct, since giving into the haters leads inevitably to one’s death, whether physically or spiritually.

In a way, it is genius in its simplicity. I have a suspicion that the haters have control of some random probability variable, which can be metaphorically expressed as a integer value in an object (me), that causes me to perform random, imbecilic acts which appear completely innocuous at first glance.

Only a complete imbecile, a shit-eating tapeworm like me, could turn the simple act of putting the ebrake on into a catastrophe. It was something tailor made to prove, to signal, that the haters have full control of my life, they have tied me to a marionette string, and can control the levels by which people hate me (simmering to full boiling) the way a conductor and composer can control the dynamics of an orchestra.