Anthony Bourdain's death kind of bothers me more than the average celebrity death. Which is to say I woke up this morning thinking still thinking about it after 24 hours, which is unlike me. This guy was a multimillionaire celebrity, someone who practically lives on another planet from the one I exist on. Paid to write and travel the world and show us a small slice of the world through his eyes. Anthony Bourdain, famed chef turned media rockstar, his heart on his sleeve on every episode and with every tweet, and especially for his beloved Asia Argento.

Argento, 42, famed accuser of disgraced Harvey Weinstein, claimed she was completely devastated by Bourdain's sudden suicide yesterday. But the heart-shattering devastation began for Bourdain himself just hours leading up to his death when he and the rest of the world had access to pictures of Argento strolling, hugging and holding hands with a much younger man while away in Rome. Now picture Bourdain scrolling these photos in a lonely hotel room in France.

I've been crushed like this before. That awful, monumentally sick feeling of my stomach being crushed into the size of a grape. That horrible sinking feeling, hands and feet and nose tingling, despair rising from the horizon like a burning sun, insides all twisted out and contorted, unable to even look in the mirror because of the fear of what horrible creature might be staring back. Anthony was feeling what I've felt before, a number of times, actually. Turning the lights off, curling up on the bed, nauseous, burning, unable to release any tension. Betrayal of the most visceral kind. Feeling like a little boy, abandoned by the one he invested all of himself into. Shrunken down to what he immediately began seeing himself as - an old man with nothing real to give anybody, a deepening sense of uselessness and unbridled despair. Money and fame and connections and TV deals and future plans mattered not in the face of a broken heart.

He loved her so much. And she did what any woman 20 years his junior would do, use him up, chew him up, spit him out. She had gotten what she needed him for; status, money, connections. He was a nice ladder for her to climb.

Anthony Bourdain took his own life because he truly loved Asia Argento and let his value be tied up in her.