Everybody Hates Me

I have been inundated with questions about my title of @EverybodyHatesMe. Would you believe 73 people have asked me? Ok, just one, but only because I asked them if they wanted to know what it meant. So, there you have it - the undivided truth!

So, who hates me? Does anybody really hate me? Why would they hate me? One of the hallmarks of becoming an adult is realizing that not everyone likes me. And I’ve come to that realization many times through my life. And their opinion comes not by anything I’ve purposefully or consciously done. One has to question, therefore, what those particular individuals are keying off of when making their decision to dislike me. I never knew and I still don’t know.

Now then, how did I come to the conclusion that people actually hate me? How did those sad individuals graduate from dislike to hate? Well, I’ll tell you. The answer lies beyond just me. I believe those individuals who come from all races, religions, genders, and movie preferences are looking for someone to blame for their miserable existence. So, why me? Is it my dashing good looks or my dizzying intellect or my coolest demeanor? Maybe. Or maybe I’m too nice and just an easy target. Or those particular individuals hate my species, of which they don’t seem to recognize that they are also a member of. I never knew and I still don’t know.

Disclaimer: I am not perfect and have more than my share of stupid mistakes in my life. I know that I have hurt people by my careless actions and I am truly sorry. But, I have never ever tried to deliberately hurt anyone.

However, I can feel the burning intensity of your reading and that you are ready to explode with the question of, “How do I know that they really hate me?” Ok, maybe it’s just a feeling I get. Am I paranoid? Maybe. But, it sure feels like some people are intense in their dislike. Maybe they ain and maybe they ain’t. What is probably also true right now is that there are people out there who agree with me, i.e., who know that feeling.

And I’m sure people will write and tell me not to worry about it (which I don’t anyway). Of course, if you really loved me and didn’t hate me, you could send me money! Unfortunately, what would that make me? A Substack Slut? I could live with that. Don’t hate me.

But, ok, enough of all this frivolity and get to the meat of my title. When I turned 60, I noticed a change in people. It’s not that they just ignored me. It’s that I wasn’t even there. The somewhat confusing part was that I don’t look my age (remember, dashing good looks). Nevertheless, some people automatically started opening doors for me and offering me seats. But, the vast majority never saw me. And that overall trend has gotten worse(?) in the past eight years. I don’t know that ‘worse’ is the right word, but I used it, so whomp, there it is.

Furthermore, I’ve heard that feeling of being invisible echoed by other members of my Senior Citizen Clan. And, if I had to describe the feeling, it sure feels like everybody hates me and everybody hates me for being a senior citizen. So, there you go. You can still send me money if it makes you feel better. It would make me feel better. But, then I’m an attention slut.