the britney vingettes: losing my religion

So he finally did it. Break up with me, I mean. It wasn’t really a surprise. Hell, I think we’ve both been putting it off for a year now. Ever since we went public with our relationship, that’s when things began to sour. I think our chemistry went out the door once we no longer had the intrigue of a secret relationship keeping things exciting.

It wasn’t the break-up that I’d feared. There wasn’t a huge fight, I didn’t beg him to take me back. He told me over the phone, and we managed to keep it pretty cordial. He wanted to leave on friendly terms. “Showbiz is a small world, Brit. We’ll run into each other all the time. I just don’t want things to get unnecessarily ugly.”

As calm as the whole break-up was, as much as I had known it was coming for months in advance, that doesn’t stop it from hurting any less. It hurts…I don’t know. It hurts more then I can ever explain. It hurts more then all the negative press that’s ever been said about me combined.

Justin and I started dating four years ago, right about the same time when things started to take off in my career. Since then, he has been my everything. My salvation from this crazy life I got myself involved in. The only one who understood me, because he was in the same boat. Justin was my sanity.

But now he’s gone and it feels like I’m standing on one leg. A part of me is missing and I don’t know how to continue on without it. Looking back on my years with Justin, I spent so much of our relationship hiding behind his shadow. Maybe it doesn’t seem that way to the press and public- but to me, it did. I looked to Justin for approval on everything I did. I bought clothes I thought he’d like. I hung out with people I thought he’d approve of. But now that the shadow is gone. And I feel completely vulnerable and exposed. More so then I ever did strip teasing in front of millions on the VMAs.

I think about it, literally, all the time. Every little thing reminds me of him, or what we had together. What is now lost. And I lose it. I’ll break down and cry for no particular reason whatsoever. And that just pisses me off even more. The crying, I mean. Because everyone will shoot me these pitiful, sympathetic looks. “I know what you’re going through, and I feel for you.” FUCK YOU, I want to shout. Do you see your ex-boyfriend on the TV, hear him singing on the radio, read about your break-up in the gossip columns? NO! So you don’t fucking know what I feel like, so leave me the FUCK alone.

That’s what I want to say at least. But I can’t. Because I’m Britney Spears. And if I explode, it’ll be all over the press the next day. And the last thing I need is for Justin to find out his break-up caused me to crack up. Fuck that. I’ll show him. I’ll be the Britney Spears he never wished he left.

So from the crying, to the anger, then jealous wonder brings my thoughts right back to Justin. Is he going through the same thing I am? Is he half-crazy over not having me in his life anymore? Like that R.E.M. song- Losing My Religion. That’s how we say it in the south.

Probably not. The fucking bastard. I heard that he’s dating Jenna- that skanky dancer from their last tour. I knew that bitch was just waiting until I was out of the picture to sink her teeth into him. Fe has been real careful to keep the gossip columns away from me, as if to protect me or something. I’m twenty years old, Fe! I want to shout. Leave me alone and let me live my life like the big girl that I am. But I can’t say that. Not to Fe. So I suck it up and find my own way to read the tabloids.

This fucking sucks. Why have I been miserable these past couple of weeks, almost to the point of self-destruction, when he’s been out gambling in Vegas and partying with stripers? Yeah, he was the one who said the word that finally ended the relationship. But it really was a mutual break-up. Both of us played a pretty even role in screwing things up. I pulled away just as much as he did. So why doesn’t he hurt as much as I do?

Or is he just better at lying to the press?

There is an upside to how distraught I’ve been, I guess. The press is having a field day spinning my unhappiness. They’re portraying me as the hurt little pop princess, and laying all the blame on Justin. Fine by me. No one has to know I did my fair share in causing the break-up.

I know I should talk to someone about all this. It can’t be healthy, to keep all these emotions bottled up inside of me. But who can I talk to? Normally, my finger would be on the speed dial to Justin. But that’s out of the question now. Laura Lynne? She’s busy with college, her mama is sick with cancer. The last thing she needs is me burdening her with my stupid problems. My mama? Hell, her and my father are practically on their way to divorce court. My problems will probably just further screw up the situation.

The only person who’s given me any sort of relief recently is Jamie Lynn. Not that I pour my soul out to her or anything. She’s too young to give me advice. But I’ve found myself calling her much more recently. Her little voice, so excited about everything that’s going on in her life, is comforting. I’m glad things are going right for one of the Spears’ women.

I think part of the reason I’ve become so attached to Jamie Lynn is her youth. I wish I was her age. When I was her age, I didn’t have to deal with anything as painful as this. When I was her age-…when I was her age, I’d just been cast on The Mickey Mouse Club. And just met Justin. And just had my first kiss with him. Shit.

Justin kept me young, that’s one thing I know for sure. He could be so goofy at times, like a little kid. Especially when you got him around Chris. Now that he’s not in my life anymore, it feels like I have to grow up. I don’t want to grow up. I found myself reading Peter Pan the other day in an airport bookstore. I think it was my subconscious talking.

I’m just so upset with myself for feeling this way. For letting someone else have so much power over me. For that power to leave me feeling so emotionally wrecked. And for me not being strong enough to fight back.

CONTINUE
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