Sinead O’Connor Saved my Life, But Can I Save Hers?

I was eighteen years old when I discovered the gorgeousness of Sinead O’Connor. Like most of my generation it was her soulfully painful rendition of “Nothing Compares To You” that captivated us. My condolences to Prince but that endearing classic belongs solely to her.

That video changed me forever. She was acutely beautiful and sovereignly bare as her softly rendered lips emoted the verses that cut like a knife into my heart.

I later found out that she was singing to her mother as well as to the faith that had betrayed her. I bonded with her disarray because I also understood the tragedy of unscheduled deceit. You are robbed of the person you could’ve been if not for the bodily assault.

And then when her album — I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got dropped — I felt an orgasmic pull towards her.

How could she have known I needed this? It was a pure and relentlessly exquisite offering that kept me breathing without a pulse. Impossible? Yes. But not when you are fluidly clinging to very lyric with astute recollection.

I was saved by that album and that song. I envied the outlet that led to her cry of survival and I embraced it.

She saved me and continues to do so. But I can’t do the same for her. But maybe by sharing her truth through her catalogue of gems— I can convince you that she deserves to be seen as human.

Juggling Wordsmith. I have a lot to say!