It’s hard poking fun at people with a real mental illness. But I’m going to try my best.
Sinead O’Connor has been an outspoken and bravado pain in the ass since long before she was purely crazy. Sometimes people are assholes for years before we later learn they were suffering from serious, diagnosable mental health problems. Then you feel kind of bad. But if it was your dog they lit on fire to protest conditions in a nation you’ve never heard of, you feel less kind of bad.
O’Connor’s particular brand of crazy has left many victims in her wake. Forget about the four ex-husbands. Who the fuck marries Sinead O’Connor? But the four kids by different men, all now either grown and gone from her madness or in state custody due to her erratic and dangerous behavior, they probably have some stories.
O’Connor has been the kind of nuts where she forever talks about suicide but somehow mostly takes her lashes out on other people. Outside of her own family destruction, she famously ripped up the photo of the Pope on SNL, decided she didn’t need to pay her overdue taxes, and somewhat out of the blue accused Arsenio Hall of being Prince’s drug dealer. Hall sued for five million just to make her stop saying that shit. She apologized and quit. Not that she has five million. Her ex-manager and long ago boyfriend is suing her for half a million for terminating their deal without warning and defamation. The Irish tax authority took the rest in forced liens.
In the past few years O’Connor has repeatedly taken to Facebook from various motels and lodgings insisting she’s being mistreated, abandoned, and bullied by everyone around her. So, threats of suicide to punish. Pretty classic bipolar. Off the meds. Her latest social media selfie video from a Travelodge in Hoboken, New Jersey where she claims to be living now. Alone, martyred, and betrayed. Or like every other tenant of the Travelodge in Hoboken.
O’Connor’s obviously ill. And quite possibly based on her own accounts, she was sexually abused as a kid. Probably likely related. Once you move past that little tidbit, you face a disturbingly self-involved pity party looking a shit ton like Bullet Tooth Tony from Snatch.
Talking over and over about how miserable you are is huge turnoff. Even if factually correct. As long as we have sub-Saharan African kwashiorkor kids you’ve never going to medal. If they had Facebook, they’d probably do something other than blubber in a Jersey motel. Things like, asking for food, or help getting the fuck out of sub-Saharan Africa.