You're Not Special

by Meghan Rienks

  Just as it would in a Lifetime movie, it all came to a head on Halloween. For the first time in months my roommates shouted up the stairs, asking me if I was going out that night. I was recovering from a nasty combination of bronchitis and strep throat, but—spurred by sheer joy that they had actually spoken to me—I happily obliged. After attempting to dull my hacking with a hot shower and applying layers of makeup, I went downstairs. I made myself a cup of tea before putting the finishing touches on my mermaid costume. Much to my surprise, I found my living room filled with frat boys and sorority girls taking shots and selfies. I explained that my bathrobe was not in fact my costume. “Oh, I’m not ready yet,” I said, poking fun at my attire. “I didn’t know we were hosting a pregame; otherwise I would have gotten dressed sooner!” I smiled at my roommates, silently forgiving them for breaking the “Nobody is allowed over unless we all approve it” rule they enforced. With perfectly glossed lips they smiled back at me, eyes sparkling as they said, “You’re not having a pregame… WE are.” Their laughter chimed in unison while their catty remark went unnoticed by the gaggle of drunken college kids in our living room. Writing it all down makes me realize now how atrocious this all was, but at the time, I was so desperate for things to even resemble something close to how they used to be, I just took it.

  I rushed upstairs to put my costume on and came down to them screaming “ROOMIE PICTURE!!!” as they handed me their phones to take pictures of… the two of them. I then let them take my key to the apartment “in case we split up.” I went along with it, saying that it was totally fine if they could just let me into the apartment complex when I called. When four a.m. rolled around and my hundredth call was ignored, I finally got confirmation from an Instagram picture that the girls had in fact been home for hours. I bummed a ride back to the apartment from one of our sisters, silently irate in the passenger seat. After attempting to scale the fifteen-foot-high gate, I made it through our front door only to be greeted by a haze of smoke, the stench of cheap liquor and vomit, and a room full of people I’d never even seen before. So, in my most composed fuming mom-like tone, I told the half-naked superwoman and the rest of her scantily clad posse that the party was over. They loudly objected to this, slurring that “it’s not your party, so you have no say when it starts or ends.” This commotion woke one of my incoherent roommates, who then stumbled out of her bedroom spewing a string of crude words in my face. I excused myself to my room saying, “We can talk about it tomorrow. You’re too drunk to be rational right now, and I’m too upset to even form words.” She continued going off, digging into me with every insult she could think of. I just kept repeating myself, saying “We will talk about it tomorrow” as I managed to get up to my room. They followed me up the stairs, along with their alcohol-induced courage to spit the nastiest words in my face as I attempted to hide my tears. I locked myself in my closet as they banged on the door, screaming every vile thing they thought about me. They drunkenly slurred how worthless I was to them and just exactly what they thought I should do about that. I slept in a pile of scarves that night, no longer muffling my sobs as I left my mom a voice mail finally admitting what was really going on. I moved out of the apartment less than two months later and dropped out of university that spring.

  It’s remarkable to me how much I grew up in that year. It was like I had spent the first eighteen years of my life on autopilot and suddenly hit a wall. I had to figure out how to fly again. These days I put on a brave face when I stand at podiums and sit in meetings and dig my fingernails into my palm to keep from crying. I regurgitate a rehearsed string of sentences to address the topic but promptly move past it instead. It happens every time someone asks me to tell the story of how my YouTube channel came to be. Despite being an actor, I hate to lie. Don’t get me wrong, I’m alarmingly wonderful at coming up with elaborate stories. I once told a riveting tale to my entire preschool class about my family’s recent trip to China—much to my mother’s dismay when my teachers asked to see photos of me on the Great Wall. She had to admit that I, her adorable, chubby-cheeked, angelic-looking bundle of blond joy was too creative for her own good. So I’m honest when people ask how my channel got me to where I am today: “It was a hobby through high school and my freshman year of college. Then it was a distraction when I was getting bullied my sophomore year, and it ended up succeeding enough to become my ticket to dropping out of college.” Then I make some self-deprecating joke about how I never planned on graduating anyway. And UCR is more like UC-Reject, am I right, ladies?! All the while, I’m pinching the skin of my closed fist and trying not to let my voice quiver. That’s the dead giveaway that I’m about one more prodding question away from tears.

  I wish someone had told me that bullies don’t always have glowing red eyes and fangs. I wish somebody had told me that I wasn’t crazy, I wasn’t being sensitive, and I wasn’t the only one who had gone through something like this. I wish I had had somebody to tell me that I was worth so much more than those girls made me believe. I deserved love and there was nothing wrong with me. So that’s what I’m telling you now. I’m telling you that your worth is not determined by what other people think of you. Your value in this world is not resting in the hands of your enemies. You don’t have to take it. You don’t have to let it slide as something that “comes with the territory” of growing up. You have the power. Don’t let them win. If I could go back in time and tell myself all of this, I would. I can’t, so instead I’m telling you. Stand up to your bullies and take charge of your own life.

  Do not let yourself become a target. Bullies are like vicious dogs—in more ways than one. They can smell fear. Do you hate your red hair and freckles? Are you embarrassed about the way you stutter? Are you ashamed of your after-school job? First of all, you shouldn’t be. Own your insecurities and wear them like a medal of honor. Poke fun at yourself, and take pride in the quirks that make you you. By doing that, you take back control. You take away anyone else’s power to make fun of you. Bullies seek out victims who will give them the greatest reaction. They feed off breaking other people down to build themselves up. So don’t break down. Put on a brave face and grin and bear it. Who knows? Maybe you’ll fall in love with your freckles after all.

  The English language has countless words that can be strung together to make endless sentences and questions and start a limitless number of conversations. Use your words, just like they taught us in kindergarten. Take a note from those quintessential teen flicks where the nerd finally stands up to the quarterback with some eloquent speech about how he actually pities him, because if he’s going so far out of his way to make someone else miserable, his own life must really suck. While you might not look like Logan Lerman or have an empowering soundtrack to back you up, you don’t have to bow your head and let their words eat you away. Chug a Red Bull, do some Sharpay Evans vocal exercises, and grow some (figurative or literal) balls. But if your bully is built like Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, forget everything I just said.

  Tell somebody. A friend, your mom, a teacher, a counselor, anybody who will listen (maybe not the guy working the McDonald’s drive-thru window, though, because he’s evaluated on his turnover speed). Don’t say it in passing like it’s not a big deal or it’s something casual. Tell them in a way that makes them understand just how serious it really is. Be uncensored and be honest, and don’t stop telling them until they really listen. Getting bullied has such a stigma attached to it, and people are quick to blame the victim. Nobody wants to believe that, outside of the movies, people can be even crueler than the actors playing villains. I hear from people all the time that their parents or friends won’t listen when they confide in them that they’re being bullied. Getting the brush-off doesn’t make what’s happening to you okay, it doesn’t render your feelings invalid, and it just means you need to keep telling them until it finally sticks. Your feelings are not “your problem,” and your problem is not a burden to others—ever. Once you see that, you’ll feel that.

&nb
sp; There is no such thing as an innocent bystander. Now, you may be one of the rare lucky souls who live a life of sunshine and unicorns. The biggest drama in your life is whether you’re team Kourtney or team Khloé. If so, then hats off to you! But that doesn’t mean you’re in the clear. I am a firm believer in speaking up for those who might not have the courage to do it themselves. “Seeing injustice and doing nothing is the worst injustice of all.” People need to stop turning a blind eye to wrongdoings because they don’t want to “get involved” in business that isn’t theirs. As human beings with the emotional capability to feel compassion and sympathy and basic morality, making sure others abide by those basic instincts is our business. You wouldn’t drive by the scene of an accident without pulling over or at least calling 911. You wouldn’t witness a kid falling from his bike and breaking his arm without rushing to his aid. You wouldn’t sit by and watch as someone got burned alive. Why is bullying any different? Sure, the spectacle may not be as obvious as arson, but your moral instincts to intervene and help in any way you can should be the same. If everyone only stands for the things that affect them directly, then who’s going to come to your aid when you need it the most? Who’s going to speak up for you? Nobody. Break that cycle, stand up against injustice just because you know it’s wrong, and acknowledge that other people deserve the same basic respect that you do.

  If you can get out of the situation, there is nothing weak about knowing when enough is enough and making a change. In an ideal world, bullies would see the error of their ways, and I could bake a cake filled with rainbows. But life is not a Tina Fey screenplay, and sometimes people just suck and we need to accept it and move on. That might mean changing jobs, switching soccer teams, moving out, or going to a new school. The number one thing people said to me when I told them I was leaving college was that I was “letting my bullies win,” as if I should value my pride more than my mental health. Your bullies only “win” when you take their abuse, so know when you’re still strong enough to walk away.

  chapter 10 how to make friends

  I was going to start this chapter by saying that if you google “how to make f,” “friends” would autofill in the first or second spot. But I just tried it, and French toast, fluffy slime, fried rice, and frosting all show up higher. And when you add an r to that f, you get fried chicken. But don’t worry, when you add the i, “friends” slides right into home. For some reason I assumed “friends” would be more googled than “fluffy slime,” but maybe I’m projecting? It would probably surprise most people to hear, but I was a really shy kid. When I was in preschool and my dad used to take me to the park by our house, I’d sit on the bench with him and point out the kids I wanted to be friends with. Then my dad would walk over and introduce me as I hid behind his legs. He said it took me only a few minutes to warm up to people and let my personality shine through, but that initial moment of ice-breaking was too much for me. While I’ve grown out of a lot of my preschool habits (like peeing my pants, a disdain for naps, and an addiction to Otter Pops), this one stuck with me.

  The steps that go into making and maintaining a friendship run pretty parallel to those of a romantic relationship. As Charlotte York on Sex and the City so eloquently summed it up, “Maybe our girlfriends are our soul mates and guys are just people to have fun with.” I certainly thought that was true when I was single. Even now, more than four years deep into (hopefully) the last relationship I’ll ever have, I still see the truth in this. The most important and life-changing relationships I have had in my life have not been romantic. The people who have shaped me into the person that I am have not been boyfriends or lovers or flings; they’ve been my best friends. I’ve had my fair share of fair-weather friends, but it’s those Barbs in a sea of Nancys that make it all worth your while. While I believe that most great things take a great deal of time, effort, luck, and some pixie dust, the task of befriending is far easier and way less daunting than four-year-old Meghan thought it to be. If you don’t suffer from CRBF (chronic resting bitch face), this chapter and advice probably seem obvious; but if you (like me) constantly look like you’ve smelled something foul, you’ll appreciate this.

  how to break the ice without sounding like you want to wear their skin

  Dish Out a Compliment

  By far the easiest way to make a friend is with a compliment. Compliments are the best icebreakers. If some girl in line at Whole Foods compliments the thigh-high boots I just scored at an amazing Nordstrom sale, you best believe I will be telling her all about it. I made it a point a few years back to give out more compliments to strangers. I came to this decision when I realized how much it brightened my day to receive an unsolicited and out-of-the-blue statement of admiration. At first I was going out of my way to hit that self-imposed quota, but before long I found it to be second nature. Not only could I strike up a conversation with someone in line for the bathroom at a party about how much I loved their hair color or their T-shirt, but when I was introduced to somebody, I had an automatic go-to. I could break the ice and prove that my resting bitch face was all bark and no bite. Offering a compliment not only shows that you’re not in fact a raging bitch but also makes the person you’re talking to feel good about themselves, thus opening them up for conversation. Just don’t compliment them on something weird.

  Find a Common Thread

  So you’ve complimented them on their shirt, and you’ve run out of things to say about buying clothes with intentional holes in them. That’s okay, no need to panic. Now it’s time to attempt to find the common thread. This could potentially be very easy, or it could not, but let’s be optimistic here. Start with the obvious: Are you at a party? Ask them how they know the host. Are you in class together? Ask them what they thought of the last lecture. Do you play on the same sports team? Bring up how unflattering you find cleats on your feet. Are you both currently scanning the Ralphs ice cream aisle at five p.m. in sweatpants? Ask them what they’re watching on Netflix tonight. Finding something you both share is a great way to make conversation. It creates a sense of commonality and gives you something to bond over. If you have attempted to find common ground in five-plus attempts with no reward, abort mission. Or just revert to the compliments and let them think you’re cosplaying as the starfish from Aquamarine.

  Do Your Research

  This one only really works if you have some time to prepare and get intel on your future best friends. Sorry, I’ve been watching way too much Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. Some prime examples where this one would work include a wedding, a double date, or any other event where you know your audience before you get there. I probably shouldn’t advertise how stellar my (internet) stalking capabilities are, but oh well. I like to be mentally prepared for everything. At first this probably sounds like a mature and responsible way of life, but ask anyone close to me and they’ll tell you it’s insane. I have banned the term “high-maintenance” and have asked everyone to use my preferred term of “particular.” In my ideal world I’d be given ample time to research and verse myself in a whole slew of background information on whatever I’m doing to ease my anxiety. Sadly, this is not my ideal world, because Donald Trump is president and Mondays aren’t optional. The only time my friends really indulge this terrible neurotic nature of mine is when it comes to meeting new people. If I’m headed to meet some out-of-towners, I’ll poll our mutual friends to gain some sense of what they like and what they do, essentially prepping myself with conversation starters that are surefire hits. This is also key to avoiding potentially awkward situations resulting from a question that will unavoidably hit a nerve. Attending a holiday gathering at your significant other’s house? Meeting a truckload of their midwestern cousins? Take the time to peruse their social media to gain some sense of their interests, then prod your partner for the land mines to avoid. Now when you meet cousin Billy Ray, you’ll ask him about his favorite cars instead of asking him where Miley is. Just make sure you don’t reference something too obscure. Nothing says c
razy like quoting their graduation Instagram post verbatim. Be cool—or at least act cool until you know them well enough to admit that you’re pretty much room temp.

  is there, like, an e-Harmony for friends, or is that just tumblr? where can i meet friends?

  Somewhere You Spend Regular Time

  I’d advise a location that involves you leaving your bed and putting pants on. Otherwise, your options for friends are pretty much limited to your family dog and fandom forum members (which I’m totally not knocking, by the way). This could be a place you’re forced to attend, i.e., school, jail, etc. Or it could be a place you’ve elected to spend your free time, e.g., bookstores, the beach, a coffee shop. Chances are if you’re a regular somewhere, somebody else will be too. Not only will you both have that in common, you’re both pretty much guaranteed to run into each other frequently. Convenient friends are the fastest friends.

  Hobbies and Activities

  One of my favorite things about doing extracurriculars when I was growing up was that it exposed me to all different kinds of people. The friends I had in English class were different from the friends I made in community theater, who were all different from my friends I took dance classes with. I was able to meet and befriend people from all different walks of life. Plus, because some of my after-school activities appealed to a larger pool of kids my age, I befriended peers from different schools, some of whom I’d probably never cross paths with otherwise. Having a multitude of different friends doesn’t make you a traitor or unfaithful to one particular group. If anything, I think having friends all over the place creates a healthy sense of balance and awareness in your life. When you surround yourself with people who don’t live and breathe the same exact life as you, you’re able to take a step back and gain perspective on the bigger picture.