and i guess that yesterday's not good enough for you.

I feel as thought I'm starting to become like the girls I hate so much, not the ones I envy hate, but the ones that I really dislike. The girls who always have something wrong with their life, the ones who need to tell everyone, and lastly, the ones who just won't shut up and accept happiness. Although everyone deserves a minute or two of (public) false pretense tragedy, not including how many they may have already of had previously. In saying so, excuse me while I pass on the following words, and grammar of my own.
A year ago tomorrow, I wanted to kill myself, and in wanting so, I almost did so. I likely wouldn't have died, I would have overdosed for the first time, or attempted to cut my left wrist, but most likely, I wouldn't have died. My stomach would have hurt for a while, and my wrist could have bled. Although it probably wouldn't have. I didn't cry at all a year ago tomorrow though, I just wanted to die, without a large, dramatic event, without much emotion, just have it all end.
Every past, or current suicide patient (mostly past though,) knows that no matter how badly you want to die, you want someone to save you more. At the time I think that I was aware of this. I told my best friend of the time, who ironically I had never really met, of my plans. He also never knew his father, and so he is one of the only people that I may ever feel truly comfortable talking about him with. Funny how he has Cancer, so Father's Day in the far years, I may not have my best friend from the most part of '08 here to discuss things with. Alas, the good comes with the bad, no matter how bad it may and up being.
I've never really felt the need to celebrate Father's Day, not necessarily having a father, not one that considers himself to be a father at least. As a young child I'm positive that I must have felt the need, but I'm only aware of doing so once, there was one time that we might have done something the day after, although that doesn't count. The one time in my life when the day was celebrated on the actual date, was somewhere between second, and third grade. It was celebrated with my Great Grandmother (who I considered just Grandma), Andrew (who at the time went by 'Dad'), and a couple friends of his. My Great Grampa likely would have been there too, he would always save me from my British Grandmother when she was too tough on me. But, accepting the good with the horrid, two or three years previous we found out he (also) had Cancer. Two or three years previous, he died. I don't remember what we did on Father's Day, except that I spent most of the day with Grandma. Andrew was ten to twenty feet ahead of us, I cried, and my Grandma told me to "not be a bother," as usual, being much too tough on me.
and I am not too blind to know all the pain you kept inside you, even though you might not show.
if I can't apologize for being wrong then it’s just a shame on me, i’ll be the reason for your pain, and you can put the blame on me.