Hey, Britney, my name's Brett. Believe you and I have some scary stuff in common. I am holding out a hand and a big damn mouth to try and get your attention. And, knowing good intentions are never truly foiled, that their energy lands perfectly, I am going to write this to you like (a) you're reading it and (b) you're my friend.
Nothing accidental in this big Cosmos. I know you know that, so today, when I woke up wondering about you, and then saw your photo on the news, I thought, hmmm. See some changes happening and I see you running out of options and do not want you to die. So this letter' s gonna be a big fat one and it's for you. If the cyberangels can't find you this time, it'll fall right where it ought to. And if someone who knows you sees this and wants to find me, they can go via Evolution Management or ICM. If it's convincing to my assistant, you can leave a message here. Fo' real. In Hollywood, where there's a will, etc.
I will say that it's the first time in the good while out of the public eye that I wished for the visibility to find you. Oh - since July of '98, I have had a life largely free of public vomiting, boyfriend betraying, socialite hissing, friends who tell you that career surges occur with labial flashing and dang. Being fucked up was fun once - but what happens when we chase trying to find what the FIRST high was like is what kills it. You're in real danger. When I got to your point, I was so scared that my body would go on after my soul died. You might understand that and it's supposed to be upsetting.
See, if I were Jabba in NY and had that bully pulpit you'd find out how many people love you and how to stop this crazy shit. I will say this - come home. It'll be all right and there are plenty of people who'll tell you why. This has to be sent in a public forum. It's personal anyway. It's to your parents, too - I know they're going through hell now. My familly suffered big time when I was out there like you are. It's surreal to see what others do in the face of our rampant addictions. (And forgive me if I have taken the liberty to say that you are an addict. Alcoholism/addiction are supposedly 'self-diagnosing' diseases, and it is rarely the place of a stranger to tell you whether or not you are one. But, honey, I am not a stranger and you are not only an alcoholic and an addict, you're so damn good at it that this disease, your broken 'NO' switch might get you before you come to the last vestige of sense you have left.
This ain't good news. The phenomenal amounts you're able to consume - and NEED - are proof of your superhuman qualities in a way. Damn. We're Jedis which can be lethal to ourselves.
Britney, the same shit that makes you shine and sizzle and be a big star and that can pull them in to get what you got, to be your shakin' wondrous self is the same shit that'll run you into a wall going about 110 miles an hour, no seatbelts in sight. What makes stars can fizzle them out or kill them.
I had a show when you were little - You might only vaguely recall it and that's fine. Or maybe you remember a similar circumstance occurring in my life. Addiction, dishonor, danger, lovely lurid headlines. Ah. The faces peering in - expressions of fear, curiosity, disappointment, jealously, obsession, anger, selfishness and just plain anguish in the eyes of the people surrounding me. So you know what I did? I fixed it where less people were around me. But then I saw faces that weren't there. Is that happening to you yet? It's powerful where you are right now.
Meeting other celebrities in this town can be too fast sometimes....a flashed smile or a hug if you're lucky as we pass one another to work opposite sides of the circus tent. After a while, you realize the ones who seemed to have the best, most 'real' lives and who were kind and had a balance in themselves and in their lives aren't partying every night. It's lonesome there where you are. And you're puzzled. Isn't the dream that came true for you what everyone wants? Maybe you're just not looking hard enough.....And then you need layering up - chemically for a Hollywood starlet night where flashbulbs overcome the moon, where they stare and the spiritually deformed ones say awful things. .
Remember when the nightclubs began to seem like playpens? No one had enough spark to keep you interested, tended, mended - UNBORED. Addiction begins as necessity - or to break the monotony. Or to stop the pain of 'invasion' - that's what it seems like when strangers are 'after you'. We picked up drugs and/or drink to take edges off, to work longer, think harder, smile in less wounded ways. Then combining things becomes necessary for life-management. And only you can make the perfect cocktail to keep the fucking wheels from falling off.
Boy, I wish I knew where you were right this minute, Britney. I'd put all five of our dogs in the truck and come get you and you'd be prevented from escaping by the slobbering canines. The gross news is that if you puked, they'd probably clean you up. So dammit, shower and pay attention for a minute.
Ah, my dear, you've made weekend headlines, I see. I see you shaved your pretty head. Seeing that made me write to you - here. Because immediately before I crashed the worst time, the one that was closest to dying, I cut my hair really short. It was ugly. I was still on television and knew I was rebelling in the worst way to those who would judge me, castigate me, damn them - same as you are thinking.
It was like I had an extra 'me' standing right by this other woman who was doing things she didn't even believe in much less want to become. You know - you're a good person. You know better. None of this seems to be stopping the amazing progression of your life into hell. Power's a fickle ho, ain't she?
Britney, your disease is gaining on you. I know some fantastic people who can help you RIGHT NOW. That's true. They can HELP RIGHT NOW and they can do it safely, privately and NO ONE will out you, harass you, betray you. I swear on my dogs.
Once, I heard someone ask, 'Would you allow anyone to do to you what you've done to yourself?'
Britney, if the first honest reply that comes busting out of you is, ''FUCK NO, I'D KILL THEM!', that's a good sign. A very good sign. You still have the silver cord that connects you to Divinity, that connects you to God and Yourself and you find He never went anywhere. At the end of my nearly fatal partying, I was more scared of that soul death than my physical body leaving any day.
Before reading further, I am stating no position on God. I was happy when I heard you were learnign about the Kabballah. Learning, exploring and finding answers to the deep questions of the soul makes us different from beasts.
Remember when it all started, we did fine. We were polite and grateful and God who'd ever think they'd give you so much money, right? Fast forward, to this moment. There's nothing else than can save you but coming home. Nothing is going to make the night sweeter or last longer or make a love not break. But I promise you, honey, the life I have now, just for today, right now, on the other side of that scary dark valley where you are. And this might sound boring but my worst day sober is a million times better than my best day messed up.
Celebrity is kind of fun at first - like one of those log flume rides at Six Flags - and now, for you on this lovely Saturday in Los(t) Angel(es) the cute little theme park water ride's suddenly veered off and hit a real river, a kick ass river, one that's wailin' and malevolent and there you are with no paddle or helmet and only time to call the dealer or -
You have 2 choices. You can wait and see if you don't suddenly wake up tomorrow returned to your senses and all well in Britneyland. I wish beyond wishing that could happen but we both know there's not a fix for that. And you might think right now isn't a good time to bother you. You are certain that NO ONE understands you. You've been betrayed before and will be again and why the hell is everyone so mean or nosy or greedy? I DO know how you feel. You can die from this shit, honey. I damn near did, too. Both of us apparently could take a LOT before we fell down and went boom. We're both Jedis of substance abuse and I have good news if you can fathom it -
Sobriety's the only thing more progressive than addiction/alcoholism. The Universe is endless and abundant and it's all free. And I am neither espousing cult beliefs or lying. Sound too good to be true? Oh and by the happy way, there are millions, probably, of people who do not use or drink, a day at a time who would agree. Let me amend that - there are millions who NO LONGER WANT TO DRINK OR USE. There's no one or anything stopping me from being high now. But you'll get some time straight and then on a bad day, a day when you do not think you can make it, you'll surprise yourself. You'll stay sober to SPITE a somebody, situation, etc. You end up laughing before you fall asleep. What your last straw is does not matter to me - but how much harder do you want to make it. But you better find that last straw before it finds you. In other words, you might consider stopping all of this before you're stopped by someone else.
It's going to be the biggest victory you've ever known. And what will happen to your heart, soul, family and career once you're sober is the biggest, sweetest to come. Y'all are gonna be better than fine - I've seen it happen too many times. And I've had it happen to me. You'll be the best you ever were and your own spirit will go instinctively to the right sources.
But right now , you have to make your way from that web of dealers, ass kissers and hollering photographers. By the way, those tabloid guys - some of them really love you. You have friends where it would amaze you and enemies right beside you. It can change around in a single instant. We only hope that the instant is not one where they'll say, 'She's unresponsive.'
Did you hear that?
And this might not be fighting fair but I am going to say it anyway - what finally brought me in was imagining what my sisters would tell their kids about why Aunt Brett died. I matter a lot to a few people on this beautiful planet and those kids are the center of my heart. A couple of them are really little, too, and one sister's due any day. Your dear children, Britney. It'll all be okay, I promise.
Here's the deal - a command from your elder sister of show biz by all that's holy and not forgetting the things we share in southern fried chicken, denim before training pants, ass shakin', boy-lovin', Co-cola drinkin', where's this party started, uh huh, etc. This is a kind command. Surrender, Britney. Surrender. I love that word. Once it's saved your life, you see it differently.
From where you're standing, talk of 'surrender' sounds like something for pussies. I thought that, too. But this is true - the very moment you say, 'All right, God, take this toy wheel I'm holding and show me the way to go home', another kind of power suffuses you. Some people feel it immediately. I wasn't one of those people. But soon after I was just living my life and realized, 'Wow. I am not scared anymore. No one else's behavior or wishes are ruining OR making my day. I am just fine.'
The mere absence of fear, once shown possible, was the single most important thing that I've ever been shown how to get. There's more but just keep all this for later - under 'what that bitch i don't even know promised me'.
Promise number one is that, when we put away the diminishing toys of booze and drugs, we have permanent access to a place that is serene and exhilarating at once. It is a glad, loving place where you laugh a lot and where forgiveness is the soup of the day - coming and going. It is just how life is and no secret formula for it. No kidding.
Promise number two is that the place I just mentioned is available to ANY OF US at ANY MOMENT FOREVER just by thinking so.
We can stray but it doesn't. Get it? Now you get sober and give someone else the keys fast. We've got a world to live in, save, make greener, sing to, screw like crazy, make laugh, what not. Then you go 'aha' and give the keys to someone else as soon as you can.
Let me say this - I was 35, ten years older than you are now, when fame happened to me. Just had my 49th birthday a few weeks ago - not quite twice your age now and I sure remember how you're suffering. Big time. I know how that locked out, terrified, crawling feeling goes. All that poison stuff's so built up it feels like everything's closing in. Only rash behavior breaks the monotony of terror. See? I told you I knew what it felt like.
If you were playing poker, you would've called it a night by now. This might be time to call it in - to call out to God with every bit of fire, rightly seekin', not blind anymore hollering, no kidding, Come Help Me Daddy.
Later, on He'll show you what to do with the opposites of angels. You find out that there's no such thing as the opposite of an angel - they're pests is all they are. No one's all evil but we do get some slobbering unformed particles of magnetized snot who not only relish but live upon the entrails of the truly living.
The harsh part, for me, is realizing that those pesky pissants won't ever care that anyone vigorously denies their goodness.
Look, I know wonderful humans who read tabloids. I know savage, cruel ones who have never seen the inside of a tabloid at all. Ain't it a world, girl?? But not a bit of out there matters for us anymore. Sure they make stuff up, but you are also glad that they don't know the most awful parts. About how you wander crying for a parent and just hear yourself as if it's coming from far away.
Speaking of parents, just last week, my sweet mother, in a wave of wishful naivete, wrote to ask, 'Honey, can't you talk to Britney and Lindsay?' I told her that everyone out here hadn't met yet, but she made me start thinking...
Now Lindsay has some special kind of rehab that I am going to wager would not serve your needs. That's just a guess. When I got sober, it was made abundantly clear to me that scepters and tiaras were to be left at the door. What was harder than that was for me to stop beating up on myself. I know you're doing a lot of that, too.
Dear Britney, dear Britney..ALL of us see your sorrow and suffering. I also know what you are hearing and how compelling and horrid it is - the terrible tinny (like jagged tin cans) voices of those who would judge, suck veins, or who are fickle or betray you. You will also find those - most, actually - who cannot fathom addiction.
Since I am pretty sure you are scared shitless right now - how could you not be? - I want you to know the depth of someone else's understanding. You're spending most of your time, whether you know it or not, trying to figure out how to make things 'go back the way they were'. That can't happen, sugar.
I know you are hearing onflicting messages about who you can trust, depend on, who LOVES you and who does not. The ones who set up your 'medicine' are not your friends. They're dealers who are as scared as you but do not have a penny's worth of hope. Britney, go get something that makes you remember Jesus, Mama, Daddy, Louisiana or all four. Now look. Are you a piece of God's shining heart? Wasn't that the first real truth you knew? Specially for who you really are, not what you look like photoshopped, shaved and in Tahiti in your mind. Yeah, THAT God. He's waiting for you to uncover your eyes.
Okay, I ought to close this thing. (They say you only teach what you need to learn anyway. So this was good for me.) You aren't doing a lot of reading lately, I suspect. Dammit, don't make me go over and bother Malibu pals about how to find you. You know, now that I think of it, there's tons of sober people right in your 'hood. Wouldn't that be great? A neighborhood where you can visit, cook, play date, practice singing, be your own fine or whiny self. Damn, I hope you make it, Britney. I am going to pray my very best believing, every single bit of rainbow having, true blue grateful to be alive praying for you.
And if this is you or anyone in Camp Spears who's not on the party side of the fence and wants to 'keep it real', you can find me or a whole army of sober happy folks - imagine that - to help. Years ago, I recall mentioning that I wanted to high five the young woman, Shannon Faulkner, for attending the Citadel. (Actually, I am not a military person AT ALL but she was taking a lot of shit and I felt like telling a sistah to hang in.) Anyway, before I'd finished saying that, practically, someone had her on the line.
That was a long time ago and I'm not sure I can compare the scenarios...the Citadel. Hell, I'd barely mentioned it and someone had her on the line. Not sure that I can pull a fast one where you're concerned. But I do know this - the worst you've found is a big-mouthed good free babysitter - when I am in LA.
Better yet, y'all pack up - you, the boys, your FOLKS, Britney, and go to my farm. When you're better. When you see some light, friend.
No kidding. Just come home.
God bless you, Britney.
Hey. God bless us all.
