The thing about this song is that it’s like a film with a big plot twist. Once you’ve made it to the final scene, and heard the punchline, it’ll never sound the same. From then on, you’ll know what’s coming, and every seemingly innocent phrase takes on a new meaning. What was peaceful, and prayer-like, becomes an imperfect list of disappointments, broken promises, and betrayals. 

It’s been a while since I played this record. I’d forgotten why. As soon as the bad, bad Jah Wobble-like b-line hits I’ll start crying. Every time. When I stuck it in a playlist last week, after Sinéad’s sad, sad passing, I had to stop the car. To try to get a grip. So many of Sinéad’s early `90s releases are tied to my own trials. Her LP. I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got was something that I sought, and found, solace in, as I destroyed a long-term relationship, and my family fell apart. 

Sinéad’s instantly recognisable vulnerable voice, that by turns whispers, and then soars with resolve, pride and rage, her intimate intakes of breath, on my copy are surrounded by a symphony of static and crackle. Badges of courage it earned as, together, we bounced from cheap bedsit to cheap bedsit. Its scars mark the distance we’ve travelled. I’ll never buy a new one.

“Thank you for hearing me…”

I was one of those kids, forever told to shut up. Forever flinching for fear of a clip round the ear.

“Thank you for seeing me…”

I was an invisible boy, lost, escaping, inside a book. 

“Thanks for not hurting me…”

Bullied, berated, shoved, and slapped, screamed, and shouted at, it got to be that I had to pretend that nothing hurt, when in reality everything did. Does. Secretly sensitive to every slight. These things are supposed to make us stronger, but it gets exhausting lugging the armour about.

“Thank you for holding me, and saying I could be…”

As a kid I never received any words of praise, or encouragement. Quite the opposite. For a long, long time now I’ve known that this is the root of my “demons”. Where my monsters live. The lack of esteem, confidence. The resulting unwillingness to compete. A feeling of worthlessness, “useless” was what I was, hammered into me, the fuel for self-destruction. The reason why I drank. Did all those drugs. I try not to think about it, but to be honest, I think about it constantly. It’s why I keep busy. To distract myself. No one hugged me ’til I took an E.

“Thank you for breaking my heart…”

So when Sinéad passed it fucking broke my heart. From the outside, and 6000 miles away, she never seemed to recover from the abuse she herself experienced as a child. Prince’s line, in Nothing Compares 2 U, about mamas, flowers and backyards famously caused Sinéad to shed a tear on cue, and it’s hard to listen to her own songs, such as You Cause As Much Sorrow – “Why must you always be around, what can’t you just leave me be?” – and not assume that they’re about her late mother. The pain that we sometimes can’t shake.