Britney Spears Moratorium
mor·a·to·ri·um: a suspension of activity
When I first started this blog - I thought it would be a good idea because I’m such a Britney fan. I’ve followed her carrer since day one…I grew up with the girl.
Words escape me regarding what is happening to her right now. When I saw her approach the courthouse yesterday… and viewed the video of her practically pinned to her car because the paparrazi wouldn’t let up.. wouldn’t move out of her way. Even the police officers who were tasked with keeping the way clear? THE POLICE WERE SNAPPING PICTURES!
All of the sudden.. I was sick to my stomach.
I buy the magazines. I read the blogs. I stop by TMZ.Com, PerezHilton.Com, BreatheHeavy.com on an almost daily basis. Why?
To get my daily Britney fix.
I’m done. Britney fans everywhere are pleading.. “Leave her alone!” “Give her a break!” “Give the girl some space!”
Well, I firmly believe it starts with me….with us. One by one…Britney fans can give her some space. Britney fans can give her room to breathe by doing one simple thing: STOP CONSUMING BRITNEY.
The paparrazi only stalk her so much because she sells. If they have no one to sell to - - would they stalk her so much??
Her breakdown is none of my business… neither is it any of yours. She needs peace and space and I will do what I can to give it to her, in my own small way. She seems so fragile - - if something horrible were to happen to her.. a suicide as is rumored.. or an accident due to the paparazzi chasing her down - - I truly believe that people like me will carry a piece of the blame. Because we just can’t stop.
I’ve stopped. I’ve quit Britney Spears.. cold turkey. I just cannot play a part in it anymore… not even the smallest part.
I may start this blog back up again once she is in a healthier place in life. Until then - I will give it a rest and stop consuming Britney Spears… I implore you to do the same.
I remember the tunnel as it appeared on the news, lit by headlights, flashlights, red lights. Between the cement tall pillars was a heap of twisted metal. I saw it then, and I can see it now. Diana dead.
She will be trying to get away, but they will chase her, just as they chased her into that church yesterday. There were dozens of them, jostling their way into sanctuary, elbowing past each other, just to creep closer to her. Even her last-minute, folded-hand prayers can’t be kept sacred. There can be no silent moments in a crowd; no silence, and no secrets.
All this fresh, painful frailty costs her so much, but it lines their pockets very well. A kings ransom was paid for those tabloid-ready cheap shots of her with messy hair, tear-soaked eyes, and the half-smile of a desperate baby girl.
“I’m scared,” she told them yesterday, when they later mobbed her at court. “Move back,” she said. “I’m scared. Stop it. Stop it. I want to get back in the car. Just stop it. Let me get in the car, please.”
Sometimes it really is too much. Internal wires cross. Anxiety hits. Panic sets in the heart. Dread. Fear.
But she asked for it, she’s a public figure.
At eight years old, she bravely stood before a microphone. By 17, she had sold 25 million records. Where were the sidewalk-skinned knees, the chalk stained hands, the monkey bars, the passed notes? A Disney set is not a childhood, no matter how many bright colors they use, or how cheerful the script.
Not a girl, barely even a woman yet, they chased her. A mob of stalkers for whom no stalking laws have been written. Smother. Crush. Flash. Photo Credit. Even Dr. “Get Real” Phil got in on the action. Unreal.
83 million albums sold so far. How many pictures?
The tunnel is crowded now. There are only inches of separation between vulnerability and disaster.
