You're Not Special

by Meghan Rienks

  DO live a life that looks good without a lens. Don’t get me wrong, I am all about the aesthetic *cough* @meghanrienks *cough*… While I will not confirm or deny that I made my boyfriend repaint my (already white) walls five different shades of white until I found one that fit my Instagram theme, I do in fact have boundaries. It’s easy to get caught up in curating your life to look good in a tiny square box, and I’m all for documenting milestones.

  I’m stoked that so much of my life is encapsulated in memories and photographs and videos. But if I’m being honest, I have no visual record of most of my greatest memories. I’m too happy and caught up in a moment to ruin it with a camera flash or a second take. Make a conscious decision to put your phone on time-out and look around and pursue a life that you’re happy with, even if nobody else sees it. We’re seeking this validation of our life and our choices when in reality the only approval we need is our own.

  DO take everything with a grain of salt, like WebMD, Wikipedia, and all those Facebook ads claiming a rare tropical fruit is the secret to Adriana Lima’s physique. I’m a self-proclaimed skeptic, and that’s probably why my email has never gotten hacked. I’m fairly certain I don’t have a distant cousin who’s a king in Ireland who left me $3 million in his will but it requires my Social Security number and bank routing information. Moral of the story: Don’t believe everything you hear or read on the internet. While this directly applies to facts and statistics, it also applies to just general interactions on social media. Trolls don’t just live under bridges; they lurk on your favorite platforms and they can say terribly derogatory things. And while your automatic reaction may go from hurt to considering the degree of truth in their words, it’s important not to lose sight of the fact that you’re letting somebody else’s small-minded opinion become your reality. Opinions aren’t facts, and facts aren’t opinions. Don’t sign your life away to a junk mail lottery win, and remember that Wikipedia accepts community edits.

  DO remember the internet is forever. I wish this weren’t true. In a perfect world there would be no evidence of my affair with raccoon eyeliner or really any pictures of me from ages twelve to fifteen. Or more like twelve to twenty-two. I mean, if you google me, I’m pretty sure one of the first images that pop up is from high school at a hookah bar. Also bear in mind I didn’t even post that picture; I was tagged in a private picture. I untagged myself, and I still can’t escape it. Once anyone has sent something into cyberspace, you can’t ever get it back. You can delete things and wipe your hard drive and erase as much as you possibly can, but nothing is guaranteed. If you even have a shred of hesitation, follow your gut. Because if you don’t, that shit will follow you forever.

  chapter 18 a comprehensive step-by-step program on how to give zero fucks

  Step 1: Look for fucks to give.

  Step 2: Realize you cannot find any.

  Step 3: Move on.

  Okay, I know it’s harder than it sounds—but, really, there is no trick, because it is that simple. The truth of the matter is that, deep down, everybody cares about what people think. It’s human instinct to be aware of other people and their points of view and perceptions. This isn’t inherently bad. It promotes empathy and understanding and a healthier sense of self. But it can also be incredibly hindering and unproductive if you manifest it in an unbalanced way. Should you care what your friends think about how your boyfriend treats you? Yeah. Should you care what your teacher thinks about your schoolwork? Yeah. Should you care what a random lady in the international food aisle thinks about your choice in salsa? No. There are times when other people’s opinions are not only welcome, they’re also important to you. But at the same time you’re entitled to not give a fucking shit about what other people think.

  More times than not, you’re probably stressing out over something that nobody is paying attention to anyway. For some reason we’re all under the impression that everyone is just as concerned with our shit as we are. Hate to break it to you, but that’s not true. While you’re freaking out about how awkward your voice sounds on the phone, that lady on the bus sitting next to you is busy worrying whether she turned her straightener off before she left the house. That “look” you’re pretty sure some girl is giving you as you laugh-snort? She’s probably just sneaky farting. But let’s say she is sending you a judgmental glare: Why do you care? What is she to you? Does she have power over you? Does she know your Social Security number? Not unless you fell for that inheritance scam.

  You cannot control how other people treat you, but you can control how it affects you. If somebody is so incredibly caught up in worrying about and judging your every move, that’s their problem. It’s also their prerogative. Just because they’ve decided you’re the star of their life movie doesn’t mean you need to watch it. I know I shit on Pinterest inspirational quotes all the time, but I actually really like this one. It’s a real quote, not one from a blogger in Arkansas. The saying goes, “Those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.” The people who know you best in your life are the only people whose opinions matter, and sometimes even those opinions don’t matter. If we lived our lives trying to please and appease everybody around us, random aquaintances and friends alike, I’m pretty sure we’d all internally combust.

  I’m aware this isn’t an easy feat. You can’t just turn off that insecure part of your brain. As you get older, that part of your brain tends to slowly silence itself or at least turn off push notifications. And while it’s awesome that you (sort of) grow out of it, I really wish I had made the conscious effort to care a little less about what people thought about me a little sooner in life. I was completely terrified to raise my hand in class for fear of saying something stupid. Guess what? I’ve said about a million stupid things in my life, and I’ll say a million more. We’re attempting to avoid the unavoidable by portraying an image that we cannot uphold for eternity. It’s like how the shyest and quietest girls from high school go to college, shave their heads, tat up their bodies, and join the Peace Corps. People always talk about some massive life event that inspired them to “find themselves” and become somebody they always wanted to be. But why can’t that start now? At the end of it, your opinion of yourself is the only one that matters. That one person who makes you feel this big? I promise you that, four years down the road, you won’t remember their name. You’ll remember how you felt when they rolled their eyes at your presentation and how you thought about that moment for months, and then you’ll feel so silly. I swear, I could have learned Mandarin in the time I spent worrying about what these people I hardly knew thought about me. So fake it. Pretend that you don’t have a damn care in the world. Shut those feelings of insecurity and self-doubt in a tiny box, then pretend they don’t exist. Imagine that you don’t give a single fuck, and one day you’ll realize you’ve stopped pretending—and still there is not a fuck to be found.

  You can be the finest peach in the world, and still somebody is going to call you fuzzy. Wouldn’t you rather be like Cher and wear a face mask to do errands? Or wear pajamas to a movie and do whatever the fuck makes you happy? The second you stop second-guessing yourself is the first second you really get to be yourself. Go do it. If you get some side-eyes and snide remarks, just know they’re probably just jealous. They’re far too concerned with how they look to have any fun. Those people are 100 percent the type who pretend they don’t poop. I don’t trust them for a second.

  how to deal with crappy people

  The Purge! Kidding, that’s not real. It would also be illegal. I also reference this movie far too often for someone who’s never seen it. I’m a big phony, which is a great lead-in to the content of this chapter: crappy people. Not that I’m identifying as a crappy person, but I do have my fair share of experiences in dealing with them. Some people are just going to suck, and not in a good way. That’s just how it is. Ideally we’d be living in a conflict-free world full of free health care and free refills on french fries, but we aren’t. While we can be wistfu
l and wish and hope that the terrible people we encounter will see the error of their ways, it’s really a waste of time and energy, which could be much better spent in more useful ways, like learning the fox-trot or memorizing lyrics from Hamilton. Those crappy people aren’t going anywhere (except hell). We might as well deal with them in a way that doesn’t make us gray before we’ve stocked up on Diane Keaton turtlenecks.

  Cut them out if you can. At this point in my life, I have a zero-tolerance policy for shitty people. I wasted way too much of my young adult life surrounded by arbitrarily crappy people. I don’t have any more time to waste, and you shouldn’t, either. I could go into the whole “Life is short” blah blah bullshit that closes every Cameron Diaz movie, but you get the gist. If you can, cut them out. I wish I had implemented this so much sooner in my own life, but for some reason I was under the impression that it wasn’t an option. Which is why I’m telling you now: it is an option! Utilize it.

  Except when it’s not an option. Like when the crappy person in your life is a coworker. In those cases, don’t engage them (and definitely don’t get engaged to them). We all know those douchebags who never grew out of childhood drama and pride themselves on being assholes. Those kinds of shitty people thrive on attention. Their atrocious actions are purely done in hopes of a reaction, so don’t give them that satisfaction. Some people just like to stir the pot to get a rise out of people, and they also lead sad, sexless lives. They need to make, like, a vast collection of parking tickets and get ignored. Now, if they’re hurting somebody, that’s obviously a whole different story. But in most cases the only things they’re really hurting are themselves and any chance of being respectable. Have fun in the bad place, Adam.

  In some instances, neither of the two prior suggestions can be followed. Sometimes you have to work closely or spend extended amounts of time with somebody who just sucks. In that case, take them for what they’re worth. Sans a few (Hitler, Donald Trump, my mother), I truly don’t believe that many people are inherently evil to their core. I mean, even Sean Spicer has a dog. Not that it makes him any less of a garbage, idiotic excuse of a person, but it’s certainly a slightly redeeming quality. I don’t think we’re required to find the good in the people we dislike, but I do think it’s important to humanize them. Even Mojo JoJo. And Voldemort. Most of the time, terrible people lash out as a way to express and project their own issues. Does that make it any better? Personally, I don’t think so. I think you’re entitled to dislike people whatever their situation. It’s unrealistic to expect somebody to be so selfless and understanding that they tolerate bad behavior with open arms. That’s sweet, but that’s bullshit. You don’t need to be friends with your enemies, but you don’t need to take part in an epic feud. If you have to coexist with somebody you can’t stand, just let them serve their purpose. Let them play the part that they’ve been given and expect nothing more. Set your expectations low, and when they don’t even meet those, set them lower. And who knows? Maybe one day things will change. Turns out even Miranda Priestly has a heart.

  Regardless, always (try) to be the bigger person. Unless your feud is with Shaq, in which case I’d accept his vertical advantage. Bad joke; what’s new? Despite my early growth spurt, as a kid I really struggled with this one. I’ve always been pretty confrontational, and it took a while for me to learn how to pick my battles. There is this innate frustration I feel when somebody does something idiotic, malicious, or just overall vile. In my mind it becomes my civic duty to make this person understand their actions and make things right. In some cases, yes, it’s necessary to intervene when you witness an injustice. But when that injustice is a game of he said, she said behind-your-back gossip, it’s better to just walk away and not participate. Stooping down to their level of pettiness does nothing but make you look just as bad. But you know what makes you look great? Letting them run their mouth on and on with no engagement on your end. Not only does it highlight their true colors perfectly, it also portrays you in a way more mature and flattering light. Translation? You look way better. You go, Glen Coco.

  Finally, find solace in that karma’s a bigger bitch than I could ever be. Know that I don’t say this lightly. I can be a massive bitch, so this means a lot coming from me. Like, a lot. Just let life run its natural course and trust that those terrible people will get what they deserve in the end. Any revenge or attempts to “get even” will pale in comparison to what karma will do. And I’d never want to rob you of experiencing the feeling you get when you stumble upon a photo of your middle school bully with a receding hairline, Crocs with socks, and a beyond-unfortunate pair of khakis. Nothing compares to that feeling. If I could bottle that feeling and sell it, I’d be a fucking millionaire.

  And if all else fails? Just remember that Harry Potter survived the Dursleys, Malfoy, Snape, Professor Quirrell, (the memory of) Tom Riddle, a basilisk, Wormtail, a multitude of dragons, Death Eaters, Umbridge, seven Horcruxes, Voldemort himself, and a whole load of other shit. Suck it up, your Squib is showing.

  chapter 19 depression

  Oh, you know, just another uplifting, fun, carefree, and lighthearted chapter! Ha. Okay, there’s no smooth way to transition into this, so I’m not even going to try. I, like a large part of the world’s population, deal with depression. Unlike a large part of the world’s population, I told millions of people on the internet. To say that I hate talking about my depression probably seems counterintuitive, since I uploaded a YouTube video talking about it. But if you’ve seen it, you might notice that I don’t really say much. Despite the response praising my authenticity, the content itself is pretty general and abstract. This was an intentional choice on my part. I’ve never been a big “feelings” person, and I’m even less inclined to talk about my feelings with strangers. So why on earth did I upload that video? Truthfully, because I couldn’t not. My channel was a documentary of my life, and what I was going through was a part of my life. I just didn’t expect other people to define it as my entire life.

  I hate that my struggles with mental illness have become something I’m known for. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret uploading that video by any means. Nor do I resent the attention it has gotten, because that reach implies relatability. It means other people are finding it and identifying with it and, hopefully, feeling a little less alone. What I do hate is that it’s treated like an aberration. That it’s such a shock that someone you’d never expect suffers from something like depression. I just wish that it wasn’t a big deal. I wish that I wasn’t “brave” for talking about it. I just wish other people would talk about it.

  I don’t want to be the poster child for depression, because I’m not that. Depression doesn’t look like any one person. It’s not a choice or a phase or anything up for debate. It’s something that some of us have to live with all our lives. I, for one, am sick of talking about it as if that’s all there is to me. I am more than an ongoing battle with this mental illness. I hope that, in telling you my story, you’ll find me a little less special. I hope that, by being more honest than I ever have been on this subject, it inspires you to be a little more honest too.

  I’ve been called sensitive and dramatic my whole life. I don’t deny either, but as an adult I’m able to understand more of where that comes from. I was raised in a really unhappy home by two people who didn’t love each other and made sure I knew that. And before you go all “Wah wah wah, another millennial pinning their problems on their parents. How typical,” that’s not what I’m doing. In the nature-versus-nurture debate, I believe that we all have the ability to grow up in spite of both. Some aspects of how I was brought up, or what I was told to believe or value, have stuck with me, both good and bad. But who I am as an adult was a conscious decision on my part, and it’s something that I work on every day. As a kid, I was a sponge soaking up the environment in which I lived, and that environment bred a deeply insecure little girl who was desperate for any love and attention she could get. From a really young age I remember worrying ab
out my appearance and how people perceived me. I remember having a hard time in school and having my mom tell me I just wasn’t trying hard enough. I remember having a teacher suspect that I might have attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. My parents wouldn’t even consider it. I just needed to try harder. I remember feeling like a disappointment, and I was ashamed that my hardest wasn’t good enough. This mentality of feeling inadequate and somewhat of a burden continued as I got older, leaving me just really insecure.

  These issues with self-worth and confidence persisted as I grew up, but because I didn’t know any different, I didn’t think anything of it. Later on, I’d find out that this manifested itself into social and general anxiety, but that’s another chapter. It wasn’t until my sophomore year of college that I hit a low point that I didn’t even know was possible. This was my first battle with something classified as “situational depression.” Situational depression is a “short-term” form of depression that occurs following a traumatic incident in your life. For me, that traumatic incident was the bullying I endured from my two roommates and sorority sisters. It’s also referred to as “adjustment disorder” and has a three-month window of expected upset. But I accepted this diagnosis, because it meant that this darkness was temporary. It meant that there was a solution. I’d move out of that apartment, get my own place, and get over it within a few months. When I look back on it now, I realize there were so many red flags and signs that the damage they inflicted on my psyche was far more than anybody thought, but we never talked about it like that. There was a problem at hand that needed to be solved, and that was it. My parents came to Riverside to help me move into a new apartment, which would solve the problem. There was no conversation about what would happen next, because once I got out of the situation, it would all get better. What do you know? It didn’t.