I’m not judging, but…
I overheard a discussion during breakfast. Actually, a monologue would be a better way to describe it. It just went on and on.
It started with “I’m not judging anyone, but...”.
Then he went on non-stop about how terrible people were. His boss was a psychopath, the ex-wife was a narcissist, his friend was a liar, and so on.
Sometimes it feels like being unhappy makes people happy, in a false kind of way. Like they derive their sense of identity from being “the unlucky one”. As if “bad things always happen to me” is their personality, or at least a big part of it.
They manage to find faults in every person and problems in every situation. They have to, to stay alive. No problem, no persona.
On the other hand, maybe this person really was one unlucky dude. Who am I to judge.