The Price Of Fame

I found this story today on Longform.org, and I can't get it out of my mind. Anyone with an ego should give it a careful read.

Lisa Belkin: It was fame that killed Robert O'Donnell, killed him as surely as that shotgun blast he fired into his brain on a dark, dusty, West Texas road, miles and years away from the thing that made him famous in the first place. Technically, it was the bullet that did it — a .410 shell, the kind his mother kept at the ranch house to shoot rattlesnakes and warn trespassers. It certainly wasn't an accident. You can't shoot yourself in the mouth accidentally with a .410. The barrel is too long. And it wasn't someone else's doing. He left three notes, lined up side…