Coming undone in a fishbowl

A lot has been made of Britney’s recent breakdowns. Everyone from E! to Dr. Phil to the average Joe or Maria has something to say about the latest casualty of kid fame. But I knew Ms. Spears was on the verge when she donned a sweatsuit to marry Federline. I hadn’t yet learned the term borderline or recognized it in myself but I was alarmed by Brit’s under-the-influence YouTube rant and her pattern of impulsive behavior. The girl needed help, not publicity. Now a possible 5150, Ms. Spears has truly lost control.

Mental illness isn’t fun or glamorous. It is ugly and tragic. I feel for her. Losing your mind is painful without the addded stress of constant flash of camera bulbs and microphones being thrust in your face for soundbites. The woman has lost her children and dignity yet the media blitz doesn’t seem to be letting up. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if Dr. Phil and his ilk helped push Brit to the edge of the edge.

I hope she heads home to Louisiana. She doesn’t need the luxury cars or the Hollywood home or her paparazzo boyfriend or her manager/producer. She needs time and love, real love, not the fish food America has been feeding her since her “Oh Baby, Baby” days.

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