Don't Let This Carry on Too Long

Of course I was different, heck that was the point of individuality. I was me, a little out of hand at times, but me. Constantly being judged, mind you. People gossiping about Ian Watkins' latest "fuck-ups" - yeah i know, fuck-ups, I was shocked they put it like that too - but fuck those twats, they knew nothing about me besides the obvious bitching they'd hear off the internet or from other gossiping whores who sit on kerbs bitching in their pathetic accents about "Ian's latest screw" or "Ian's latest rant about blah blah blah". But like I said, FUCK 'EM.

How did they know what was going on in my life? They had no idea what I was doing or feeling and to be honest neither did I sometimes.
It got to me to think people live off this shit, living each day spending hours gazing through pages of google searches with my name in the search box. My business, some true, some not. But MY business.

I couldn't even walk through Ponty or Cardiff without passing some of these bastards, sometimes I'd stand and mouth off at them - humour them, no doubt they would go back and tell their buddies about Ian Watkins' verbal fight with a 16 year old in H&M - other times, I put my head down and kept walking as they shouted stuff after me.

I had made mistakes obviously, I'm only human, arguably mine were worse than most peoples, and for this I was left alone quite a lot.
People got to know me, didn't like what they'd seen in some shape or form, and fucked off!
Yeah, happened quite a few times actually, I rarely trusted people anymore because of this.
Everyone left me, their attitude was; well if he can get himself into this mess surely he can get himself out!
Truth is, they couldn't be more wrong. I needed someone, I was an emotional wreck, but no-one cared, they had time to spend somewhere else, on someone else. All except one...

When people shouted at me, calling me "scum", he praised me, telling me I was "perfect".
When people lashed out at me, he sat and mopped up the blood, watching and nursing me until he knew I was stable enough to survive another day.
When people laughed at me, and slated me, he told me I was "sexy".
And when people pointed out my "fuck-ups", he turned a blind eye and pointed out what he loved about me, and why.

No matter what, I could count on him to be there for me.
When I'd come home covered in blood, drunk, high, whatever it was, he was there.
I hated coming home in a state, but I couldn't help it. It killed me having to face him, his huge brown eyes filling with liquid, despite him trying to fight it back, fight it back for me.
This is why I NEEDED to change, for him, not just for me.
This is why I needed to change my ways, no more mistakes I promised.
He trusted me in this, he promised me he'd help, and he'd give me another chance.

But this time was different. This time I knew I had fucked up bad.
This time I knew it would test his patience, questioning our relationship and trust in eachother.
I knew things wouldn't go my way. And for that, I waited to hear those final few words...