I Hate Everyone But You

by Gaby Dunn

I’ll be fine. Or I won’t be fine and then I’ll have to drop out and live in my parents’ guesthouse until I sell my first script about living in my parents’ guesthouse. Thank God writers are meant to be crazy!

only lame-ass bitches wear cardigans?

People would just think I’m shy if I didn’t have such harsh features that make me look like a bitch. Am I a bitch? Does being judgmental automatically make you a bitch?

Does no one else have panic attacks that they’re going to arrive late and ruin their lives so they overcompensate by arriving extremely early?

Finally someone around here appreciates my God-given gift for the written word.

Take a deep breath. Loofah all your anxiety away and remember that every awful moment becomes a great story later.

I buried the fucking lede! Even Midwestern moms know not to do that!

You have so much life and mortification ahead!

(I think this must be how sororities work. Fake smiles/behavioral conditioning/Stockholm syndrome.)

Within twenty minutes, I have to pee. Because I am me and in addition to having the personality of a 65-year-old, I have a postmenopausal bladder.

It’s hard to help people who don’t want help. Wanting help has always been my saving grace. I practically scream: “Help me!” from the rooftops.

People love to open up to me about their problems. I think it’s because I’m so relatable. I’m like the Sandra Bullock of mental illness.

How’s your spiral? Are you enjoying it? Are there lots of twists and turns that release into a pit of blackness?

Too bad no one ever told him that rage is my secret weapon!

Nothing pisses me off more than someone telling me I’m pissed off. (I have to assume this is an innate biological reaction, because how else would anyone respond to such infuriating commentary?)

The rush is over and now the anxiety is settling in like a familiar flu.

Never blame yourself for the physical failings of a man. Their infrastructure is designed for malfunction.

I always compliment people I can’t stand. It throws them off and makes me feel like a better person despite the hate and judgment in my heart.

Honestly, I don’t think that what happened is SO bad. Like is it cringeworthy? Yes. But will it have long-term repercussions on your life? Absolutely not.

I was the pinnacle of politeness. Turns out, I do have manners. I guess my rudeness has been a choice and not the product of a poor upbringing.

You would be proud of me. I’m keeping all my feels on the inside, like a WASP.

There is nothing romantic going on here. I’m barely attracted to him, and I’m attracted to everyone.

I am basically a manic pixie nightmare.

Maybe I will just be a recluse filmmaker who never marries but has her finger on the pulse of human emotion despite never experiencing anything other than third base.

Almost (definitely) compulsively honest. So honest you will never have to ask for my opinion because I offer it without thinking.

Yep. I have a boyfriend. An actual boyfriend and not an elaborate setup organized by a frenemy at summer camp.

I don’t like anyone to touch my legs if I haven’t shaved in the last two hours. OCD or Jewish genes? Your guess is as good as mine.

hate that I am my worst self around the two people who are nicest to me.

I still have intense vagina anxiety due to lack of exposure. Is it normal?? Is it disgusting?? Who knows!

Turns out you can get to know someone real fast when you’re wasted.

I’m brunching! What am I? Well-adjusted and straight?!

Apparently my energy encourages reckless behavior.

I hate people who remain calm. It makes my shouting less satisfying.

All of these girls are supposed to be my closest friends and confidantes, but the idea of talking to them made me more nervous than asking a stranger to push a floor number on an elevator. I feel like no one here genuinely likes me and they are all forming these friendships while I sit around looking like a moron. No one is rude or anything. It’s worse. It’s like I’m not even there.

I wish I liked to drink. Drunk people seem happier.

I didn’t know vegetables could taste edible! Maybe I will not die at 27 now like all of the greats.

there is no use worrying about something that isn’t actually happening.

I don’t think I said anything the entire way home. And I was completely awake. Is this how shy people feel all the time? It’s horrible. And exhausting.

he seemed content to sit in silence, which is another type of person I can’t relate to.

I HATE WRITING. It is the worst, most painful exercise in masochism. Who am I to think that I have anything worth saying?

I am so mad and anxious I want to rip my skin off. Why can’t anything ever just be nice or easy? Why am I in a constant state of torment? If this is life, no thanks.

Maybe extensively Google everyone’s online profile before having sex with them?

The entire day felt decidedly British, which was a nice cheap way to feel cultured.

REMIND ME TO NEVER DATE AGAIN! FEELINGS ARE TERRIBLE! PEOPLE ARE TERRIBLE.

I am completely exhausted by the prospect of being me for the rest of my life.

May I just suggest marijuana one final time? I’ve heard Xanax fucks with your liver.

I don’t really see a world in which you remain objective. You have too many opinions to never write an op-ed.

Is this adulthood? Wanting what you don’t have?

Anything said in an effort to get laid will not hold up in a court of law.

Nothing makes me more uncomfortable than sincerity.