Ahhh, Whitney

I have a confession.

I really loved Whitney Houston back in the day.

You see I was in college when she broke through. Listening to Springsteen, of course, but my best female buddies - Lisa and Lorraine - were huge Whitney Houston fans.

I'd pretend that I hated it...

...but man, she had such a great voice.

And she was beautiful.

We all watched that train slowly crash.

Her death, three years ago, was met with a huge shake of our collective heads.

The media kept saying:

If only someone knew the depths of her struggles.

Of course, her death brought her entire family into the light.

Everyone kept talking about her poor daughter, Bobbi.

How could the kid go on?

Would she make the same sort of mistakes that her mother made?

Could Bobby Brown somehow save his own daughter?

The news that broke last week was just too preposterous to even digest.

Bobbi was face down in a tub?

She had suffered the exact same fate?

At 21 years old?

Twitter exploded.

There were so many sick, twisted lines about how the family needed to start taking showers.

Others spoke about not caring one bit about the tragic lives that some celebrities live.

But man, that's a really, really sad story.

The media is handling it with their usual sensitivity.

When will Bobby pull the plug?

The talking heads will gather and speak about how 'if we only knew.'

I suppose there will come a moment when I'm reading the story where an image of Whitney will pop into my head.

21 years old.

The biggest star on the planet.

So beautiful.

So full of life.

Isolation and despair attacks from all angles.

That poor girl.