joshmattingly-blog

[joshmattingly-blog]

Bologna and Ketchup

"Your dad doesn't love you or your brother. He tells me all the time. You know what he told me? He told me he can't fucking stand you.

Now get your ass in the basement or you're gonna get the spatula again!"

"I don't wanna go down there!" cried the Ryan, a scrappy, freckle-faced 9 year old. His heart racing, tears starting to well in his eyes as he musters all the courage in his 4th grade heart to hold them back. By now he'd figured out how to entertain himself using the random Lego guys and old, yellowed news papers left from the previous homeowner, so going to the basement wasn't that bad anymore. But Ryan wondered, as he sat looking at his devil of a step-mother, if his dad actually didn't love him.

"GET YOUR FUCKING ASS DOWNSTAIRS!"

Ryan's palms start to sweat, his whole body filling with adrenaline to the point where his face starts to tingle. She starts rifling through various drawers to find her culinary weapon of choice.

"I'm not going!"

"Oh, you're gonna get it, you little asshole!"

His gentle heart can no longer dam the emotions filling him to the brim, and he starts to sob. Tears flowing from his hazel eyes onto his striped, Izod shirt. The brave boy stands outside the half-bathroom, next to an all-too-dirty litter box, waiting in anticipation. "Why would she say that he doesn't love us?" he thought as she clinged and clanged through cuttlery and serving untensils. "Did I do something to make him mad?" His father is his hero in every sense of the word. If only Dad was home right now, Ryan could hug this wonderful man and feel the love radiating from his body. But unfortunately he had to work on a Saturday and Ryan is left tortured by this evil woman's words.

This sort of psychological warfare is the first time such a tactic has been used, but the physical punishment is nothing out of the norm. Sometimes it's because he wouldn't clean his room fast enough. Some times it's because he "talked back;" which had very different meanings day-to-day. On this autumn afternoon, it was because Ryan didn't eat the bologna and ketchup sandwich that was prepared for his lunch. He wasn't sure where the hell such an abomination of a meal originated from but knew that he didn't like it. Now, no lunch, a choice between being alone in the basement or rubber spatula to the backside, and the added joy of wondering if the man who he loved more than anything, his savior from this messy situation, didn't reciprocate the feeling.

"I HATE YOU SO MUCH!" poured from his quivering throat.

"Yeah? Well the feeling's mutual. Now come here!"

She pulls a plastic sauce spoon out of the third drawer down from the top. The drawer than held the utensils that were only taken out on holidays or when guests came over for dinner. The big utensils. He had only had the plastic spoon once and remembered the sound of the air whooshing through the long, narrow holes in the scoop as it lashed toward his body.

The demon-woman grabbs his wrist and holds his hand high above his head so that he remains only on his toes. Ryan tries to keep his balance as he slowly twirls like the worlds most unlucky balerina. Tears and heat impede his vision; he's going to have to do this half-blind. With one free hand to try to block the incoming punishment, he puts his it over his ass, palm facing out, and screams.

"PLEASE! NO, NO, NO, NO....."

Maybe he doesn't love him. Maybe he left that day on purpose knowing that this would happen. Maybe he hated Ryan as much as his step-mother did. How could this be happening? WHERE. IS. HE?

Of course, none of this was the case. Dad loved Ryan more than life itself. But how could a child -- with such little life experience -- understand the thought patterns of grown ups? And then he hears the spine-tingling whoosh of the spoon.

Impact.

Over and over the spoon lands. On his ass, his thights, his lower back, and his wrists, as he tries with all of his strength to deflect the blows. It feels a bit more severe than the spatula does. But not quite as bad as some of the others. The wooden spoon was pretty much a joke at this point. He found out that if he clenched his buttcheeks hard enough, the wood had a god chance of breaking. The hairbrush has the most mass and girth, so it leaves bruises. Not ideal if one plans on sitting in the following days. And who can forget about the Christmas tree lights. A season delight that was easily the worst of them all. Although when plugged in, he could hear "Jingle Bell Rock" in his head and it somehow made them hurt less. That is until the song stopped in his head and could feel his cut skin.

However, he knows that this barrage will only last a short while and then he doesn't have to waste away in the basement all day. You see, some kids get to play with 'choose your own adventure' books. This was Ryan's version of that. With sup-plot-adventures like, "should he tell his friends or not?"

The lashing stops. The boy can't wait for his dad to get home so he can explain what happened and promise he will start liking bologna and ketchup sandwiches.

She throws the spoon in the sink. "Get your ass to your bedroom and don't come out until I tell you."

Ryan, still crying, nods as he runs toward the giant, red-oak staircase leading to the second story.

"And Ryan..." He looks back. "If you tell you dad about this, I'm going to give it to your brother twice as bad." He slinks up the stairs.

As he's trying to process everything that just happened, he knows he can't let his little brother take a beating just for talking to Dad. The last time that happened, he got a split lip and bloody nose from the back of her over-sized wallet.

Ryan, feeling overwhelmed, will keep taking it like a man until he can figure it out. Maybe he never will.

He has hope.

[joshmattingly-blog]

How the Death of Robin Williams Affected My Brain

I'm not going to write a huge post about this but I figured I would share because maybe it will have some importance. As most of you know, my little brother took his own life a year and 10 months ago, so the Robin Williams news hit me like a ton of bricks. Zach and I used to watch and quote his movies obsessively and those days hold a very important spot in my heart. It's weird knowing that both my brother and one of our heroes felt like there was no other option. Its like this weird, dark thing connects the two of them and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. For most people its impossible to rationalize because they don't get it.

Since my brother died, I have been a very depressed person. I was seeing a therapist who offered to help me get on meds, but I'm choosing the method of just allowing myself to be sad. I'm often looked at as a positive person who's always happy and who generally has it together emotionally. There's a good chance that when someone thinks that way about me, they're only seeing the face that I put on. There are days where I don't want to get out of bed because nothing seems to matter and I don't understand how so many things in the world can be so fucked up. Or because I miss my brother. Or because at 30, for some god damn reason I'm just now dealing with a lot past issues. Lately my life seems like its falling apart and I just don't know where it went off the rails. I used to be so happy.

When I read anything negative about depression, mental health, or suicide, it pisses me off and I get physically upset. The idea that someone can just brush off mental illness rather than take a few minutes out of their fucking day to try to understand it is beyond me. People suffer from undeniable pain and mental suffering everyday and often times have no idea how to articulate it. My brother couldn't and now he's no longer with us. Neither is Robin. Neither are a slew of people who every day feel like they don't fit in with social norms.

The loss of Robin Williams is devastating to his family, the entertainment world, his fans, and every comedian - like me - who dreamed of working with him. But to his fans who suffer from depression, it seems to have hit especially hard. Because even for just a moment he could make us forget about our problematic brains. Looking through what my roommate and I call "shark eyes," our personal lives and the bleak world-news took a back seat to his inspirational performances, impressions, hyper comedic style, his never ending mission to make people happy, and the ability to make himself feel like everyone's cool uncle. The fact that such a man, who never really showed signs, didn't feel like he fit in, is terribly sad.

Since my brother died, I haven't been my old self. I'm this new, depressed, mask-wearing version of Josh. A person who, even though I would NEVER commit suicide, has come to a point in his life where he understands how someone could*. My point in saying that is that even though we look fine, people who suffer from depression aren't. So be kind to people. Connect with your friends and family. Don't be cruel to strangers. And LISTEN to what people are saying to you. It could very well be the most important thing you do to help another human.

PS - Reading everyone posts about depression and suicide has been really inspiring. You're all amazing and I'm here for every single one of you. With all sincerity. <3

*If you're ever to the point where you feel like suicide is your only option, please seek help. If you have no one to talk to there are SO many options for help. Know that you should be here.. you were lucky enough to be born! That's really fucking incredible! http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

#RIPRobinWilliams #RIPZachMattingly #FuckYouIfYouFindThisFunny

[joshmattingly-blog]

This album is fantastic.

[joshmattingly-blog]

Suicide: One Year Later

Today is a sad day for me. Today marks the one year anniversary of my little brother committing himself to the afterlife. Taking it upon himself to cut his vitals to a flat-line and be with so many others who felt they needed to do the same. And as I type this, one quarter of his body -- in the form of ashes -- sits in my lap, in a mahogany box crafted by my father with a photo of him on top staring at me as if he is going to walk through the door. Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" is playing on my Spotify. I'm trying to type as fast as I can to stay focused on this and not my pounding heart or the tears I can feel trying to force their way out of my eyes. And I reminisce.

I think of so many things when I remember Zach. I think of us as kids. We used to make blanket forts and play our Sega Genesis and watch cartoons in the safety of our living room. Stuff that we were probably too old to be watching together, but we left our machismo aside and just enjoyed our time together. I think of how I used to be able to make him laugh so easily. He would laugh so hard at my jokes, and when I could tell he wasn't going to stop laughing, I would keep going harder. Even on the phone I could make that guy laugh like a maniac. I loved hearing his laugh; I loved his happiness.

Zach was a six foot, three inch teddy bear who everyone loved. Every time he came around, he would make the people around him laugh and smile and feel like they were special. He had countless friends, a family who charished his very existence, and a group of co-workers who he touched every day when he arrived to work. On the outside, my little brother had everything going for him. He was living the American dream and I, as well as everyone he came in contact with, was very proud of him as a human being.

Unfortunately, through that happiness was a man in pain. Someone with mental issues like depression and anxiety. Someone who was far too hard on himself with things that he felt he didn't have control over. It got the best of him.

I can't speak for Zach and what he was going through. But I CAN speak on how much losing him has affected me. The past year of my life has been incredibly painful and depressing. On the outside, I too, am a confident and happy person. Inside though, I didn't know how to handle his parting; how could I? No one is prepared for an abrupt suicide with no reason, no good bye, and no note telling you why. It's just something that you have to deal with for the rest of your life. I pride myself on being a strong willed person full of passion and dedication. Everything I have ever done has been to try to be the best version of myself I can be. I want to be kind, loving, open, respectful, and understanding of everyone I know and/or communicate with. His passing, however, destroyed me. At times this past year, I have been angry and have projected my pain on to people I hold so close and I'm not proud of it. There have been many mornings where getting out of bed seemed pointless. And I could feel the devastation in my every move.

You see, my experience with his suicide has given me this weird realization that anything can be taken from me without notice. Even though my situation is a rare one, and I know its an irrational fear, I can't help but fear it. Relationships with my friends started to suffer because I began to close myself off. I got so enthralled with my work that I often forgot to appreciate the ones who were there for me no matter what. I began to think, "this is all bullshit. None of this stuff that I do day-to-day REALLY means anything." I was a mess. And to a certain extent, still kind of am. I'm very self aware; something multiple phsychiatrists have told me, but that doesn't mean I fully know how to deal with the pain. Or know why I run from it, or project it onto things that are important to me. As irrational as my 'losing anything' fear is, suicide, to someone dealing with it, is also very irrational. Nothing of it makes sense. I've not been in that head space before, that of suicide, so I don't genuinely understand the gravity of it all.

Zach walked the same earth not neccesarily seeing it the same way. Everything was a shade of gray. 50.... shades of... ok, stop that. Sure, I joke. Which is something I continue to do a year later because as a comedian, it helps alleviate the awful pain his suicide has brought to me. I have made countless people very uncomfortable joking about my brother because people laugh at pain. As fucked up as it is, people shake thier head, laugh with guilt, and I grin like an idiot as I use humor to try to adjust to what I have to deal with until the day I die. I know I shouldn't, but for some messed up reason, it helps. I know it isn't healthy and I know I need to stop, but no one will tell me to because they don't how to. Maybe they think I'm mentally unstable. Maybe the don't put any thought into it. Either way, it isn't something I should do.

I can say though, that his death has also presented me with a great thing. I take everything more seriously now. Not in a bad way. I appreciate it all a lot more. I see the beauty in absolutely everything and realize how much I, as a human, take for granted. Every time the sun hits my living room floor, it's more beautiful than it was a year ago. Every time I'm treated to a nice meal, it tastes better. Every time the wind blows, the fragrance of nearby flowers and foliage seem to dance through my nose. And every time I meet a new person, or have a conversation with a friend or acquaintance, I listen. I appreciate what they have to say and I am ALWAYS learning something new. My destiny has been greatly altered but I have to believe that in the long run, I will be a better, more understanding and peaceful person.

Zach killing himself has also completely changed my outlook of suicide and the stigma that surrounds it. Up until he made his choice, I thought suicide was selfish. I called it the 'cowards way out.' In my mind, nothing was too hard to deal with and hurting yourself should never be an option. Now I feel like maybe I'm the selfish one. Maybe I should have called him more. Maybe I should have checked in to see if things we all well in his mind. The guilt. I know it's not my fault. I know I shouldn't feel guilty; everyone has told me that. Ok, fine. I didn't call him enough -- that's not selfish -- that's being busy with life. But think about this... what if I didn't have the same attitude on suicide? What if I didn't consider it cowardly, but rather took the time to understand what drives people to such an extreme? Maybe he wouldn't have felt like he couldn't talk to anyone about it. Typically, when people have a preconceived notion of what they think is stupid, or negative, people won't listen. Who am I to judge what he is thinking or feeling? Whatever the case, what's done is done and that's that. I will deal with the guilt over time.

He was in school to be a bio chemist and was working with a lab in Grand Rapids, Michigan to find a cure for Parkinson's Disease and was doing a lot of really great work. That's an amazing, selfless and a fantastic way to try to make a career! He and I were both trying to be successful in our own ways and would joke about who would buy our dad a house first. A silly competition that may have never garnered a winner, but it was something that we did, and we would laugh and tell each other how proud we were of one another. We competed when it came to everything, but this was actually a competition of worth. My dad is the greatest man we've ever known and we wanted our family of three to be great.

The last conversation I ever had with my brother, Zach was while I was driving home from work and he was at a friends house. I made a video last year in October for the Movember charity that I dedicated to him. He was a cancer survivor and since I had no REAL idea of what he went through, it was my way of showing him I cared and that I was grateful every day that he was still with us. As he played the video, I listened, and he started to cry. While driving down La Brea in Hollywood, I also started to cry. He said, "why did you have to go and make me cry in front of my friends?" as he laughed through his tears. I said, "I just want you to know how proud I am of you and all that you've accomplished over the years. I love you very much and I always look forward to seeing your face." We chatted a bit more after that, wished each other well, and that was the last I ever heard from him.

The past year has been very hard for me. People tell me that it gets easier with time and it never seems like it will. I will always love and respect Zach Mattingly. He's my little brother and nothing that he went through or chose to do will ever change that. I will cherish every second that I got to spend with him and will no longer take all of the seemingly meaningless things that happen in this life for granted. They all mean something. Everything has worth, should be listened to, and greeted with an open mind. Zach's death, even though a terrible thing, will not hinder me as a person. But rather it will make me stronger as a man, friend, son, boyfriend or husband, and member of this life none of us know the meaning to.

Rest in peace, Zachary. I love you immensely and I hope that you were finally able to find what you were looking for.

With love and care, Your older brother, Josh

[joshmattingly-blog]

I was always getting into trouble. #tbt #allstarswimmer

[joshmattingly-blog]

This is AMAZING! Thanks!! :D

Errbody say yaaaaaay Legend of Dungeon!

Art for The Greenlight because how can I not when Jesse and Josh are rampaging through a dungeon as a drunk zombie and his hammer-wielding girlfriend. Honestly. 

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The good ol days. #2003 #tbt

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On set with @shane_hartline @shanehartline @ryanpatrickmill @peter_murphy Super fun shoot!!

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I got interviewed on Most Casual Gaming! Check it out. :)

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Maria Olech dropping Polish knowledge on my ass! #nazdrowie

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Pour Vous with some of my favorite bromantic pals. @stephensaff and @everyone_likes_a_sam behind the bar. Oh and John is living in 1996 and doesnt have #instagram #hollywood

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Last showing of Golden Boy. #broadway

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#20k #youtube #milestone

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Tis the season to get cancer from Christmas candy. #leadpackaging

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Grimind! A new game on Steam Greenlight. Check out this review as part of "The Greenlight" with Jesse Cox!

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The Super Indie Spotlight of Bleed! Part of my new web show with Jesse Cox, The Greenlight!

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This weeks indie games news! FEZ Ports, Wii U Sale, Top 50 Indie Games of 2013 and Stone Rage pre alpha footage!