I don't follow celebrity media.

I don't know the first thing about "reality television."

Most of my self-righteous opinions about that portal to the sloppy debauchery of strangers comes from the fact that I was once a perpetrator of that same sloppy debauchery, and have only recently "cleaned up" my act.

And I didn't clean it up so that I could sit on a futon and watch other people fuck up even more royally (while getting paid for it).

So when Charlie Sheen began to invade all of my social media feeds, I was curious. Then when even loved ones dropped the Sheen name in conversation, I was curious enough to Google the hoopla.

Charlie Sheen what? He threw a tantrum, riled up drama about his television show, threw together a Twitter account and then hashtagged #winning until over a million people jumped on his douche-wagon?

The entire world was Sheen happy. And I lost my tongue. In my livid mind, a fire darted back and forth in a cage. And I couldn't find my words.

Yesterday, a musician I follow on Twitter said, "Hey, remember when Charlie Sheen was arrested for beating his wife? How about when he shot his fiancee a while back? No? Ok, cool."

But I still kept silent. I didn't want to start that conversation.

I didn't want to crack open the box of fury I keep inside me in regard to domestic violence issues and in regard to celebrities who perpetuate the general American apathy toward violence against women. I knew that if I were to open my mouth, hell would ensue. Most of it, emotional. A lot of it, personal.

Then I read Anna Holmes' New York Times article on the Charlie Sheen craze and the public's sheeplike acceptance of gratuitous misogyny on screen.

And I asked myself: WHY haven't I said anything?

Anna Holmes' article was a relief to read. It assured me that other people were also uncomfortable with Sheen and his undeserved publicity. It assured me that if I spoke, someone else might say, "I agree."

So why did it take Anna's article for me to say something? Frankly, I didn't expect anyone to understand. Or care. I had bought into the general apathy, and I'd given up.

I expected no healthy discussion. I expected no sensitivity to women's issues. I expected only flippant baa-ing: "Oh, nobody takes him seriously." "This is just entertainment." "Well, that's America." "Well, that's money." "You have to admit, there's something to be said about a guy who can be that much of a dick and garner that many fans."

And I didn't want to hear it (lest I also get arrested for "accidentally" shooting someone).

When I see the unfettered popularity of people like Charlie Sheen, I ache. I ache as a woman and I ache as an artist.

It kills me that television producers and trash-news moguls are money hungry enough to brush away Sheen's "antics" and embrace him as a reliable cash machine.

As a woman who grew up in the throes of domestic violence's ugliest realities, I don't find the "Charlie Sheen is #winning" comments amusing. At all. In fact, I question the judgment of anyone who admires — or even humors — the fame and wealth of irresponsible, entitled assholes like Charlie Sheen.

It disgusts me that he is our highest paid television actor.

There is so much to be said for the lack of integrity and shameless apathy in film and television. I could rant for hours.

But at the end of the day, I am also an artist. And an unabashed idealist. I have friends who are talented actors, screenwriters and other visionaries in the tv/film industry. And those friends help me believe that the industry can be kicked in the ass and used to empower, educate and inspire.

No, I don't think all art has to be a Hallmark card. But I do believe creators have power. And they should wield that power to take strong stands in favor of a civil society that promotes equality and fair treatment for all.

Creators are people with voices. And it's dangerous — God, I wish they could see HOW dangerous — when the people with voices are the most apathetic of them all.

Read the Anna Holmes article. Please.