Still Just a Geek, page 26
“This is exactly what I was hoping for,” he said. “This is going to be such a great scene.”*
“If there’s anything I can do, just pick up the phone,” I said.
“I’ll get in touch when we have the scene finished, and I’ll see you in a couple weeks!”
“Awesome. Thanks, man.” I hung up my phone, and looked out at the endless Texas landscape, unchanged in any meaningful way during the phone call.
“Who was that?” Anne asked, waking up from her nap.
“Molaro. He had questions for me for the Big Bang I’m doing when we get home.”
“Can you tell me about it?”
“No, not yet,” I said.
“You’re no fun,” she said.
“I know. I’m the worst.”
I went back to losing my game, Anne looked at her phone, and the van pushed ever onward toward Dallas.
A few weeks later, I got the script for the episode. As always, it arrived late in the evening, the day before the table read. I signed for it, thanked the courier, and ran into my office.
I sat on my couch, tore open the manila envelope, and began to read. When I got to the scene with Sheldon, Amy, and Wil Wheaton, I read it as an actor: I kept my emotions neutral, and let the characters talk to me. Then, I read it as a fan of the show: I heard the individual voices, and I laughed at the jokes. Then, I read it one final time, as the Guy Who Played Wesley Crusher: I realized that I was going to be on one of the most popular shows in the English-speaking world, saying to anyone who cared to listen, “I’m an author now. I do public speaking, and I have my own web series about boardgames . . . there was a time when I thought I would never get out of Wesley Crusher’s shadow, but now that’s just a small part of a pretty great life, and it’s a part that I’m glad is there.”*
That’s when the tears sprung into my eyes, and the weird mix of joy and something else that wasn’t quite sadness, but had its roots there, bloomed in my chest.
I read the rest of the script, and, like I always do, felt like a kid the night before Christmas or his birthday, impatiently waiting for the morning to come.
When I went to the table read the next morning, I was greeted warmly and welcomed by everyone there.* When we got to the scene with Sheldon, Amy, and Wil Wheaton, Mayim* said Amy’s line, “We’re, uh, trying to cheer him up, so . . .” and the room exploded into laughter, myself included. Mayim was sitting across from me, and she looked up from her script and said to me, “I’m so sorry. I want you to know that I do not share Amy’s opinion here.” The entire room laughed, again. “I know, it’s okay,” I said. We read the rest of the script, and took a break before we began rehearsal. I found Steve and Bill Prady and some of the other producers, and walked over to them.
“Great job,” Steve said to me.
“I’m not gonna lie,” I said, “I got a little weepy when I read it.” I paused for a second. “Thank you for this.”
“No, thank you for being here,” he said.
“Can I pitch you a joke?” I said.
“Sure.”
“Would it be too meta if Wil Wheaton says something about how he gets to guest star on a popular series, but Sheldon doesn’t know what that show is?”
“We thought about something like that,” he said, “but we worried that it may confuse the audience and take them out of the moment. That’s why there’s no reference to you being on Eureka or Leverage or anything like that. We thought it would be simpler and cleaner if our Wil Wheaton doesn’t have the same television acting career that you have.”*
“That makes sense,” I said. “And, once again, can I just observe how weird and hilarious it is that there’s your Wil Wheaton, and Wil Wheaton Prime, and they look the same but are very different and I’m both of them?”*
We all laughed,* and they went back to the writer’s building to do their thing, while I went to the set to do mine.
Over the week of rehearsals, the words never changed in that scene, but my performance did. It was Chuck Lorre who pointed out to me that while the sentiment may be very emotional to me, it’s more matter-of-fact to Wil Wheaton the character. When he gave me that perspective, the performance settled into what you saw in the episode.
Like Wil Wheaton said to Sheldon, there was a time when I felt like I’d never get out of Wesley’s shadow, but now I truly am grateful that Wesley Crusher and Star Trek are a part of my life.
Their Wil Wheaton couldn’t say it, but my Wil Wheaton can: Big Bang Theory is a very important part of my personal and professional life, and is one of the reasons I can stand on the shoulders of Star Trek in a way that I thought—well, feared is more accurate—I never would, and I’m incredibly grateful that it’s there. I’m grateful for the friendships I’ve made among the cast, crew, and writers, and I’m grateful for the opportunities it’s given me to work in comedy. Every time I’m there, I learn a little bit more about comedic acting, acting in front of an audience, and acting in a sitcom.*
I don’t know what the future of my career holds, but I know that whatever is over the horizon, the road I’ve traveled to get here is like those interstates in Texas: everything can look the same, and it can feel like you’re not going anywhere, until you suddenly get where you’re going and realize that you’ve been traveling for a long time.*
Why It’s Awesome to Be a Nerd
TRANSCRIBED FROM COMMENTS AT CALGARY EXPO 2014
My name is Wil Wheaton. It’s 2013. And you’ve just recently joined us on planet Earth. So welcome. I’m an actor. I’m a writer. And I’m a dad.* Your mother asked me to tell you why it’s awesome to be a nerd. That’s an easy thing for me to do because I am a nerd.
I don’t know what the world is going to be like by the time you understand this. I don’t know what it’s going to mean to be a nerd when you are a young woman. For me, when I was growing up, being a nerd meant that I liked things that were a little weird. That took a lot of effort to appreciate and understand. It meant that I loved science, and that I loved playing board games, and reading books, and really understanding what went on in the world instead of just riding the planet through space.
When I was a little boy, people really teased us about that, and made us feel like there was something wrong with us for loving those things. Now that I’m an adult, I’m kind of a professional nerd,* and the world has changed a lot. I think a lot of us have realized that being a nerd . . . it’s not about what you love. It’s about how you love it.
So there’s going to be a thing in your life that you love, and I don’t know what it’s going to be. It might be sports,* it might be science, it might be reading, it might be fashion design, it might be building things, it might be telling stories or taking pictures. It doesn’t matter what it is. The way you love that, and the way that you find other people who love it the way you do, is what makes being a nerd awesome. The way you love that, and the way that you find other people who love it the way you do is what makes you a nerd. The defining characteristic of [being a nerd] is that we love things.* Some of us love Firefly and some of us love Game of Thrones, or Star Trek, or Star Wars, or anime, or games, or fantasy, or science fiction. Some of us love completely different things. But we all love those things SO much that we travel for thousands of miles . . . we come from all over the world, so that we can be around people who love the things the way that we love them.
That’s why being a nerd is awesome. And don’t let anyone tell you that that thing that you love is a thing that you can’t love. Don’t anyone ever tell you that you can’t love that, that’s for boys . . . you find the things that you love, and you love them the most that you can.
And listen: This is really important. I want you to be honest, honorable, kind. I want you to work hard. Because everything worth doing is hard. And I want you to be awesome, and I will do my very best to leave you a planet that you can still live on.
It All Started with a Big Bang
About ten years ago, I was stuck, professionally, and doing my best not to freak out every day about where the next mortgage payment would come from.* I was doing moderately well as a writer, but I wasn’t earning enough to sustain myself and my family, and my acting career was . . . well, if it were a patient in a coma, we would have been having serious discussions about pulling the plug to end the suffering.
Everything changed when Bill Prady called me and pitched me on playing a version of myself on his series, The Big Bang Theory. Believe it or not, I didn’t instantly say yes. I felt like playing myself meant I would only get to do one episode, nobody would care, and the industry wouldn’t respect me for it because I wasn’t playing a role.* So I called my friend John Rogers and asked him what I should do.
“YOU SAY YES YOU DUMMY WHY ARE YOU EVEN CONSIDERING NOT DOING THIS?” he hollered at me,* throwing much-needed cold water on the doubts and fears I had unnecessarily created in my fucked-up head.
So I thanked John for his advice and guidance, called Bill back, and accepted the gig. A few days later, Bill called me back and carefully told me that the character had changed. Now, the version of Wil Wheaton I would be playing was, and I quote, “Delightfully evil.”
Now I said YES without hesitation. I was playing a character, just like I wanted to, but I was the only person in the world who could play him, because he was literally a version of me.
That week on the set was the best week of my life.* I was already a huge fan of the show, but by the time I was wrapped, I was an even bigger fan of the cast and crew. Everyone treated me with kindness and respect. They made me feel so welcome, like I deserved to be there, like I was a valued member of the show. One of the producers told me “I hope you had a good time here, because we are definitely bringing you back for more episodes.”
That was awesome, but I’ve worked in film and television long enough to know that people say things like that all the time, and nothing ever comes of it.*
Only this time, it did!
A little while later, they brought me back for another episode, and then another and another and then it was ten years later and I’ve done like seventeen episodes. Along the way, I became good friends with the entire cast and most of the writers and producers. They welcomed me into their family, and made me feel like I was as important to the production as anyone else who works there. They accepted me and always made me feel like I deserved to be there, like I was valued, like I was not someone who had done under twenty episodes, but who had been there for every moment of every day. It has been a remarkable experience, and the greatest joy of my professional life. Personally, it ranks second, behind my marriage and partnership with the best person on the planet, Anne Wheaton.*
Last night, I took what is probably my final curtain call in front of an audience at Stage 25. There are only nine episodes left, and the math of it makes it unlikely there will be another space in any of the stories they have left for their version of Wil Wheaton.
And while that breaks my heart, it’s really okay. Things end, and I’m always grateful to be sad at the end of something, because it means I am grateful that it happened.*
When I was a kid on Star Trek, I never had the emotional maturity to appreciate it. I loved my cast mates, and we were a family, but I was just too young and immature to fully appreciate what we had until it was gone.* For years, when I thought about TNG and my space family, I felt shame and regret. But I finally got to publicly express my love and gratitude to them at a big TNG reunion panel in Calgary. I got a second chance that I never thought I would get, and I made the most of it. Since then, I can look back on TNG with fondness and pride, instead of sadness and regret.*
I wasn’t going to let twenty-five years go by before I got to share my gratitude with the cast and crew of Big Bang Theory, so yesterday during a break in camera blocking, I stood in the middle of the set, and I took a minute to tell them all how grateful I am for the years of love and kindness they have all given me. I thanked them for making me feel like I’m part of their family, and for being my friends. I did my best not to cry, and I mostly succeeded.
We went back to work, and over the next hour or so, pretty much everyone from the cast and crew came up to me and made sure I knew that I didn’t just feel like part of their family, I was part of their family. Every single person who talked to me told me they will miss me as much as I will miss them.
Over the course of the day and night (we tape in the evening after rehearsing and camera blocking all day), I was able to share meaningful and joyful (and tearful) moments with everyone in the cast, and most of the producers and crew. I was able to directly express my gratitude to all of the people who have been such an important and wonderful part of my life since we shot my first episode, way back in 2008.
I’m so sad the show is ending. I’m so sad that, in just a few short weeks, they’ll start tearing down the sets and preparing Stage 25 for whoever is going to move into after we leave.*
But I am so grateful that I’ve had the privilege and honor to spend nearly a quarter of my life working with and becoming friends with these amazing humans.
The episode we shot last night will probably air in three to four weeks, and it’s likely to be the last time we see Formerly Evil Wil Wheaton in his natural habitat, but as you probably saw from the pictures I posted from the set,* I could not have asked for a better and more wonderful way to bring this incredible chapter in my life to a close.
My life and career are in a much better place now than they were ten years ago.* I feel happier (recent kick in the face by my damn depression notwithstanding) and I feel better about my career choices and opportunities than I have in a long, long time. Being part of this show, and forming friendships with my coworkers there has been a very big part of that.*
Thank you, Bill Prady and Chuck Lorre, for giving me the opportunity to be part of your creation. Thank you, Steve Molaro and Steve Holland and all the writers, for always giving me the funniest stuff to perform, and letting me play a version of myself who is so much cooler than I am. Thank you, Mark Cendrowski, for always directing me toward my best possible work, and for making me a better actor. Thank you, Anthony Rich, and everyone on the crew, for creating such an amazing and joyful and supportive working environment.*
And thank you most of all to the cast for allowing me to be part of the family. I don’t know what’s next for any of us (I hope you all take a deserved vacation) but I want you all to know that I love you, and being part of your stories has been a gift, an honor, and something I will cherish for the rest of my life.
I’m Having Trouble Breathing In*
One of the many delightful* things about having depression and anxiety is occasionally and unexpectedly feeling like the whole goddamn world is a heavy lead blanket, like that thing they put on your chest at the dentist when you get X-rays, and it’s been dropped around your entire existence without your consent.
Physically, it weighs heavier on me in some places than it does in others. I feel it tugging at the corners of my eyes, and pressing down on the center of my chest. When it’s really bad, it can feel like one of those dreams where you try to move, but every step and every motion feels like you’re struggling to move through something heavy and viscous.* Emotionally, it covers me completely, separating me from my motivation, my focus, and everything that brings me joy in my life.
I live with depression and anxiety.* I take medication, I practice meditation and CBT, and I see a therapist regularly to help me handle it. It doesn’t control my life, and it doesn’t define my life . . . but when it’s really bad, it sure feels like it does. When it’s really bad, it feels like it is the only thing in my entire life, the Alpha and Omega of my existence.
And so it was on Saturday. I’d felt it a little bit during the week, but I honestly couldn’t tell if it was the slow, relentless suffocation of anxiety, or if I was just really tired. I also have occasional mono flare-ups,* because that lives inside my body, and it could have been that, even. The fun* thing about anxiety and exhaustion is that, for me, they feel largely indistinguishable from each other, and one typically feeds the other in a perpetual motion cycle that is horribly efficient.*
But by Saturday, I felt terrible. I didn’t want to be a victim, and I didn’t want to be a prisoner in my own life, so I took a walk that turned into a run that turned into a walk, that turned back into a run. It was really hard to keep going, but I did it, and while I was out on the road, listening to my playlist and exercising my body, I tried to use the rational part of my brain to objectively look back on the week, and figure out what the hell happened to open the anxiety floodgates. I got a ton of writing done, and I enjoyed every bit of it. I’m super proud of the work I’m doing, and I think I’m going to have something that’s worth publishing when it’s finished.* I don’t feel creatively stifled like I did as recently as a month ago, so that couldn’t be it. I even had an audition I didn’t expect, for a role that I was perfect for, on a show that I love, that—
And there it was. The audition.
If you’re one of those people who decides that talking about this is whining,* please stop reading this now and go fuck yourself.*
I auditioned for this show about a year ago, and I nailed it. I know that I nailed it, because the producers told me I nailed it, and they wanted to wait until there was a larger role on the show for me, instead of using me to play a character that was in and out in a single episode. So when they called me back for a different role last week, a role that was on a few episodes and was right in my wheelhouse, I thought, This is the thing they were talking about! This is the thing I am going to book!
For at least ten years—a fucking decade—I never book the job, so it’s really, really hard to go into auditions and not feel like Charlie Brown running toward the football. But this time was different. I prepared, I did a great job in the room, casting told me I did a great job in the room, and I even asked my friend who is on the show if they wouldn’t mind putting in a good word for me.*
I had the audition on Wednesday, and for most of Thursday, I let myself feel hopeful. But by the end of the day, I knew it wasn’t going to happen. I felt like an idiot for getting my hopes up, I was embarrassed and humiliated that I asked my friend to help me out, and I felt like a jackass for letting myself believe that this time anything would be different.
“If there’s anything I can do, just pick up the phone,” I said.
“I’ll get in touch when we have the scene finished, and I’ll see you in a couple weeks!”
“Awesome. Thanks, man.” I hung up my phone, and looked out at the endless Texas landscape, unchanged in any meaningful way during the phone call.
“Who was that?” Anne asked, waking up from her nap.
“Molaro. He had questions for me for the Big Bang I’m doing when we get home.”
“Can you tell me about it?”
“No, not yet,” I said.
“You’re no fun,” she said.
“I know. I’m the worst.”
I went back to losing my game, Anne looked at her phone, and the van pushed ever onward toward Dallas.
A few weeks later, I got the script for the episode. As always, it arrived late in the evening, the day before the table read. I signed for it, thanked the courier, and ran into my office.
I sat on my couch, tore open the manila envelope, and began to read. When I got to the scene with Sheldon, Amy, and Wil Wheaton, I read it as an actor: I kept my emotions neutral, and let the characters talk to me. Then, I read it as a fan of the show: I heard the individual voices, and I laughed at the jokes. Then, I read it one final time, as the Guy Who Played Wesley Crusher: I realized that I was going to be on one of the most popular shows in the English-speaking world, saying to anyone who cared to listen, “I’m an author now. I do public speaking, and I have my own web series about boardgames . . . there was a time when I thought I would never get out of Wesley Crusher’s shadow, but now that’s just a small part of a pretty great life, and it’s a part that I’m glad is there.”*
That’s when the tears sprung into my eyes, and the weird mix of joy and something else that wasn’t quite sadness, but had its roots there, bloomed in my chest.
I read the rest of the script, and, like I always do, felt like a kid the night before Christmas or his birthday, impatiently waiting for the morning to come.
When I went to the table read the next morning, I was greeted warmly and welcomed by everyone there.* When we got to the scene with Sheldon, Amy, and Wil Wheaton, Mayim* said Amy’s line, “We’re, uh, trying to cheer him up, so . . .” and the room exploded into laughter, myself included. Mayim was sitting across from me, and she looked up from her script and said to me, “I’m so sorry. I want you to know that I do not share Amy’s opinion here.” The entire room laughed, again. “I know, it’s okay,” I said. We read the rest of the script, and took a break before we began rehearsal. I found Steve and Bill Prady and some of the other producers, and walked over to them.
“Great job,” Steve said to me.
“I’m not gonna lie,” I said, “I got a little weepy when I read it.” I paused for a second. “Thank you for this.”
“No, thank you for being here,” he said.
“Can I pitch you a joke?” I said.
“Sure.”
“Would it be too meta if Wil Wheaton says something about how he gets to guest star on a popular series, but Sheldon doesn’t know what that show is?”
“We thought about something like that,” he said, “but we worried that it may confuse the audience and take them out of the moment. That’s why there’s no reference to you being on Eureka or Leverage or anything like that. We thought it would be simpler and cleaner if our Wil Wheaton doesn’t have the same television acting career that you have.”*
“That makes sense,” I said. “And, once again, can I just observe how weird and hilarious it is that there’s your Wil Wheaton, and Wil Wheaton Prime, and they look the same but are very different and I’m both of them?”*
We all laughed,* and they went back to the writer’s building to do their thing, while I went to the set to do mine.
Over the week of rehearsals, the words never changed in that scene, but my performance did. It was Chuck Lorre who pointed out to me that while the sentiment may be very emotional to me, it’s more matter-of-fact to Wil Wheaton the character. When he gave me that perspective, the performance settled into what you saw in the episode.
Like Wil Wheaton said to Sheldon, there was a time when I felt like I’d never get out of Wesley’s shadow, but now I truly am grateful that Wesley Crusher and Star Trek are a part of my life.
Their Wil Wheaton couldn’t say it, but my Wil Wheaton can: Big Bang Theory is a very important part of my personal and professional life, and is one of the reasons I can stand on the shoulders of Star Trek in a way that I thought—well, feared is more accurate—I never would, and I’m incredibly grateful that it’s there. I’m grateful for the friendships I’ve made among the cast, crew, and writers, and I’m grateful for the opportunities it’s given me to work in comedy. Every time I’m there, I learn a little bit more about comedic acting, acting in front of an audience, and acting in a sitcom.*
I don’t know what the future of my career holds, but I know that whatever is over the horizon, the road I’ve traveled to get here is like those interstates in Texas: everything can look the same, and it can feel like you’re not going anywhere, until you suddenly get where you’re going and realize that you’ve been traveling for a long time.*
Why It’s Awesome to Be a Nerd
TRANSCRIBED FROM COMMENTS AT CALGARY EXPO 2014
My name is Wil Wheaton. It’s 2013. And you’ve just recently joined us on planet Earth. So welcome. I’m an actor. I’m a writer. And I’m a dad.* Your mother asked me to tell you why it’s awesome to be a nerd. That’s an easy thing for me to do because I am a nerd.
I don’t know what the world is going to be like by the time you understand this. I don’t know what it’s going to mean to be a nerd when you are a young woman. For me, when I was growing up, being a nerd meant that I liked things that were a little weird. That took a lot of effort to appreciate and understand. It meant that I loved science, and that I loved playing board games, and reading books, and really understanding what went on in the world instead of just riding the planet through space.
When I was a little boy, people really teased us about that, and made us feel like there was something wrong with us for loving those things. Now that I’m an adult, I’m kind of a professional nerd,* and the world has changed a lot. I think a lot of us have realized that being a nerd . . . it’s not about what you love. It’s about how you love it.
So there’s going to be a thing in your life that you love, and I don’t know what it’s going to be. It might be sports,* it might be science, it might be reading, it might be fashion design, it might be building things, it might be telling stories or taking pictures. It doesn’t matter what it is. The way you love that, and the way that you find other people who love it the way you do, is what makes being a nerd awesome. The way you love that, and the way that you find other people who love it the way you do is what makes you a nerd. The defining characteristic of [being a nerd] is that we love things.* Some of us love Firefly and some of us love Game of Thrones, or Star Trek, or Star Wars, or anime, or games, or fantasy, or science fiction. Some of us love completely different things. But we all love those things SO much that we travel for thousands of miles . . . we come from all over the world, so that we can be around people who love the things the way that we love them.
That’s why being a nerd is awesome. And don’t let anyone tell you that that thing that you love is a thing that you can’t love. Don’t anyone ever tell you that you can’t love that, that’s for boys . . . you find the things that you love, and you love them the most that you can.
And listen: This is really important. I want you to be honest, honorable, kind. I want you to work hard. Because everything worth doing is hard. And I want you to be awesome, and I will do my very best to leave you a planet that you can still live on.
It All Started with a Big Bang
About ten years ago, I was stuck, professionally, and doing my best not to freak out every day about where the next mortgage payment would come from.* I was doing moderately well as a writer, but I wasn’t earning enough to sustain myself and my family, and my acting career was . . . well, if it were a patient in a coma, we would have been having serious discussions about pulling the plug to end the suffering.
Everything changed when Bill Prady called me and pitched me on playing a version of myself on his series, The Big Bang Theory. Believe it or not, I didn’t instantly say yes. I felt like playing myself meant I would only get to do one episode, nobody would care, and the industry wouldn’t respect me for it because I wasn’t playing a role.* So I called my friend John Rogers and asked him what I should do.
“YOU SAY YES YOU DUMMY WHY ARE YOU EVEN CONSIDERING NOT DOING THIS?” he hollered at me,* throwing much-needed cold water on the doubts and fears I had unnecessarily created in my fucked-up head.
So I thanked John for his advice and guidance, called Bill back, and accepted the gig. A few days later, Bill called me back and carefully told me that the character had changed. Now, the version of Wil Wheaton I would be playing was, and I quote, “Delightfully evil.”
Now I said YES without hesitation. I was playing a character, just like I wanted to, but I was the only person in the world who could play him, because he was literally a version of me.
That week on the set was the best week of my life.* I was already a huge fan of the show, but by the time I was wrapped, I was an even bigger fan of the cast and crew. Everyone treated me with kindness and respect. They made me feel so welcome, like I deserved to be there, like I was a valued member of the show. One of the producers told me “I hope you had a good time here, because we are definitely bringing you back for more episodes.”
That was awesome, but I’ve worked in film and television long enough to know that people say things like that all the time, and nothing ever comes of it.*
Only this time, it did!
A little while later, they brought me back for another episode, and then another and another and then it was ten years later and I’ve done like seventeen episodes. Along the way, I became good friends with the entire cast and most of the writers and producers. They welcomed me into their family, and made me feel like I was as important to the production as anyone else who works there. They accepted me and always made me feel like I deserved to be there, like I was valued, like I was not someone who had done under twenty episodes, but who had been there for every moment of every day. It has been a remarkable experience, and the greatest joy of my professional life. Personally, it ranks second, behind my marriage and partnership with the best person on the planet, Anne Wheaton.*
Last night, I took what is probably my final curtain call in front of an audience at Stage 25. There are only nine episodes left, and the math of it makes it unlikely there will be another space in any of the stories they have left for their version of Wil Wheaton.
And while that breaks my heart, it’s really okay. Things end, and I’m always grateful to be sad at the end of something, because it means I am grateful that it happened.*
When I was a kid on Star Trek, I never had the emotional maturity to appreciate it. I loved my cast mates, and we were a family, but I was just too young and immature to fully appreciate what we had until it was gone.* For years, when I thought about TNG and my space family, I felt shame and regret. But I finally got to publicly express my love and gratitude to them at a big TNG reunion panel in Calgary. I got a second chance that I never thought I would get, and I made the most of it. Since then, I can look back on TNG with fondness and pride, instead of sadness and regret.*
I wasn’t going to let twenty-five years go by before I got to share my gratitude with the cast and crew of Big Bang Theory, so yesterday during a break in camera blocking, I stood in the middle of the set, and I took a minute to tell them all how grateful I am for the years of love and kindness they have all given me. I thanked them for making me feel like I’m part of their family, and for being my friends. I did my best not to cry, and I mostly succeeded.
We went back to work, and over the next hour or so, pretty much everyone from the cast and crew came up to me and made sure I knew that I didn’t just feel like part of their family, I was part of their family. Every single person who talked to me told me they will miss me as much as I will miss them.
Over the course of the day and night (we tape in the evening after rehearsing and camera blocking all day), I was able to share meaningful and joyful (and tearful) moments with everyone in the cast, and most of the producers and crew. I was able to directly express my gratitude to all of the people who have been such an important and wonderful part of my life since we shot my first episode, way back in 2008.
I’m so sad the show is ending. I’m so sad that, in just a few short weeks, they’ll start tearing down the sets and preparing Stage 25 for whoever is going to move into after we leave.*
But I am so grateful that I’ve had the privilege and honor to spend nearly a quarter of my life working with and becoming friends with these amazing humans.
The episode we shot last night will probably air in three to four weeks, and it’s likely to be the last time we see Formerly Evil Wil Wheaton in his natural habitat, but as you probably saw from the pictures I posted from the set,* I could not have asked for a better and more wonderful way to bring this incredible chapter in my life to a close.
My life and career are in a much better place now than they were ten years ago.* I feel happier (recent kick in the face by my damn depression notwithstanding) and I feel better about my career choices and opportunities than I have in a long, long time. Being part of this show, and forming friendships with my coworkers there has been a very big part of that.*
Thank you, Bill Prady and Chuck Lorre, for giving me the opportunity to be part of your creation. Thank you, Steve Molaro and Steve Holland and all the writers, for always giving me the funniest stuff to perform, and letting me play a version of myself who is so much cooler than I am. Thank you, Mark Cendrowski, for always directing me toward my best possible work, and for making me a better actor. Thank you, Anthony Rich, and everyone on the crew, for creating such an amazing and joyful and supportive working environment.*
And thank you most of all to the cast for allowing me to be part of the family. I don’t know what’s next for any of us (I hope you all take a deserved vacation) but I want you all to know that I love you, and being part of your stories has been a gift, an honor, and something I will cherish for the rest of my life.
I’m Having Trouble Breathing In*
One of the many delightful* things about having depression and anxiety is occasionally and unexpectedly feeling like the whole goddamn world is a heavy lead blanket, like that thing they put on your chest at the dentist when you get X-rays, and it’s been dropped around your entire existence without your consent.
Physically, it weighs heavier on me in some places than it does in others. I feel it tugging at the corners of my eyes, and pressing down on the center of my chest. When it’s really bad, it can feel like one of those dreams where you try to move, but every step and every motion feels like you’re struggling to move through something heavy and viscous.* Emotionally, it covers me completely, separating me from my motivation, my focus, and everything that brings me joy in my life.
I live with depression and anxiety.* I take medication, I practice meditation and CBT, and I see a therapist regularly to help me handle it. It doesn’t control my life, and it doesn’t define my life . . . but when it’s really bad, it sure feels like it does. When it’s really bad, it feels like it is the only thing in my entire life, the Alpha and Omega of my existence.
And so it was on Saturday. I’d felt it a little bit during the week, but I honestly couldn’t tell if it was the slow, relentless suffocation of anxiety, or if I was just really tired. I also have occasional mono flare-ups,* because that lives inside my body, and it could have been that, even. The fun* thing about anxiety and exhaustion is that, for me, they feel largely indistinguishable from each other, and one typically feeds the other in a perpetual motion cycle that is horribly efficient.*
But by Saturday, I felt terrible. I didn’t want to be a victim, and I didn’t want to be a prisoner in my own life, so I took a walk that turned into a run that turned into a walk, that turned back into a run. It was really hard to keep going, but I did it, and while I was out on the road, listening to my playlist and exercising my body, I tried to use the rational part of my brain to objectively look back on the week, and figure out what the hell happened to open the anxiety floodgates. I got a ton of writing done, and I enjoyed every bit of it. I’m super proud of the work I’m doing, and I think I’m going to have something that’s worth publishing when it’s finished.* I don’t feel creatively stifled like I did as recently as a month ago, so that couldn’t be it. I even had an audition I didn’t expect, for a role that I was perfect for, on a show that I love, that—
And there it was. The audition.
If you’re one of those people who decides that talking about this is whining,* please stop reading this now and go fuck yourself.*
I auditioned for this show about a year ago, and I nailed it. I know that I nailed it, because the producers told me I nailed it, and they wanted to wait until there was a larger role on the show for me, instead of using me to play a character that was in and out in a single episode. So when they called me back for a different role last week, a role that was on a few episodes and was right in my wheelhouse, I thought, This is the thing they were talking about! This is the thing I am going to book!
For at least ten years—a fucking decade—I never book the job, so it’s really, really hard to go into auditions and not feel like Charlie Brown running toward the football. But this time was different. I prepared, I did a great job in the room, casting told me I did a great job in the room, and I even asked my friend who is on the show if they wouldn’t mind putting in a good word for me.*
I had the audition on Wednesday, and for most of Thursday, I let myself feel hopeful. But by the end of the day, I knew it wasn’t going to happen. I felt like an idiot for getting my hopes up, I was embarrassed and humiliated that I asked my friend to help me out, and I felt like a jackass for letting myself believe that this time anything would be different.
