1. You’re still trapped by physical reality. Nobody “wins” over gravity or biology. You’re sure not. You look awful.
2. You totally stress out the people around you. The very few people around you who sincerely care about you at all are freaked at what a full-blown rambling ego-crazed drug addict you’ve become. And the ones who are sucking all the money off you they can before you die or wake up know they’re acting like craven jackals. So your presence isn’t exactly spreading happiness.
3. You’re rich and powerful just now because you starred in a sitcom. Standard, cookie-cutter sitcoms like Two and a Half Men are not exactly cultural or intellectual pinnacles. They’re advertising fodder. Two and a Half Men succeeded because of its stellar writing and phenomenal cast. But you, Charlie, are by far the weakest link in that cast. As an actor you make a superb mannequin. You got paid what you did because you have great hair, or the most killer agent in the history of handshakes, or something. But it’s certainly not because of your acting. On the show you always come across as exactly what you are: Charlie Sheen smugly dialing it in. Then the other actors start talking, and the show comes alive again.
4. You’re a people-pleaser. All anyone in the world wants is to be liked by everyone else in the world. You’re certainly no different. Might as well give into that. Drugs can’t keep you from the need of your heart.
5. You’re fooling no one. No one thinks you’re cool or superhuman. People think you’ve become what virtually all drug addicts in the throes of their addiction do, which is a severely deluded egomaniac. You’re way out of whack—and that’s not something you can hide. And you’re particularly bad at hiding it. People don’t think you’re magical. They think you think you’re magical. Not the same thing. At all.
6. You’re so normal. You were born with a splendid body and constitution, which is invaluable to your being a durable drug and sex addict. But trillions of people have your capacity for metabolizing drugs and partying all night. (And for you that ship’s set sail anyway; no one “wins” over time, either.) It’s just not that big of a deal. You like sex. You like to get high. Emotionally you’re twelve years old. You want people to like you. Could you be a guy any more normal? Get used to it, already. You’re one of us. We like us. We like you. Relax, already. You’re in, friend.
(I also wrote [in September of 2007] An Open Letter To Britney Spears.)