A long journey

Help! It is a silent scream that comes from inside that longs to go out and does not know how. It seems like if was imprisoned in strong ropes, fighting, persistently, for independence. I do not know if I am the guard of it, or if is fear that keeps both of us.
I do not recognize me, because somewhere on this journey, I’ve lost track to whom I’ve always been, and find myself in a double, siamese body, arguing constantly, invisible to the eyes of others.
My past is glued on to me. Loosen it obliges to a long, taken care intervention, since any handling is open to complications.
They say that surgery is divided in three phases: separation of the tissues, stopping the bleeding and closure the tissues. I am simultaneously in the first and in the second phase, unable to stop the haemorrhage. I attribute this continuous spilling to a defective separation, to the anxiety from the one that waits, aiming to taking me home and to the insistence of life, others and perhaps mine, by refusing loneliness like a period of convalescence demands. But above all, I owe it, essentially, to the lack of character and determination in accepting the beginning of a new life.
The conscience of these factors, it is not, however, sufficient for closing the tissues. Time is the only antiseptic able to cure.
So, I keep on bleeding, while tomorrow doesn’t come, feeling weaker each day, assisting to the supplication of my past, at the same time, that I listen to the appeal of a new start.