Quietly Hostile

by Samantha Irby

This book is dedicated to Zoloft.

I don’t have a lot of coping mechanisms that aren’t wholly self-destructive, but here is one good one that I will recommend: saying I like things that I like.

I’d need a sociology degree to write about this in a real way, but we live in such a hilariously stupid time, where everyone is just hurling expectations of justification at each other constantly, and I’m sorry, lads, but I don’t like it.

I want to push back against this idea that it’s not real love if you’re not passionately chattering at each other all the time, that it’s just as valid (and romantic!) to know instinctively when to shut the fuck up.

But I get it now, your jam is always gonna sound like your jam, timeless and relevant even if the youths fail to appreciate it.

QUIETLY HOSTILE is how I would describe my public personality; I am mild-mannered and super polite, but just beneath the surface of my skin, my blood is electrified and I am one inconsiderate driver away from a full Falling Down–style emotional collapse. I don’t know how to teach a child not to seethe and instead to develop a healthy coping and communication style, because I do not know how to do that for myself.

Being perceived is excruciating, especially if you can’t go person to person explaining why you look like that. I’d go to a lot more stuff if I knew I could take each person aside and explain to them why I look and dress the way I do.