for as long as i can remember, i've been scared of surgery. the fear of my life being completely and utterly in someone else's hands, someone else cutting me open to heal a wound inside but leaving one outside.
there are so many questions- what if they don't clamp that vein in time? what if i lose too much blood? what if something gets twisted inside and i get stuck with it because trying to fix it is too much of a risk?- but that doesn't even breach the surface.
i've never told anyone about that fear, not even you. but somehow, you found out about it. maybe it was the way i looked at anything that was bleeding. or maybe you saw how anxious i got when sitting in hospital waiting rooms. whatever it was, you tried to pretend like you didn’t know about it. you pretended like you had no clue why i tried my hardest to stop hurting myself- because in the end i was only hurting myself- but when i gave in, i always took good care of my injuries.
but one day you did the unthinkable. you used my fear against me, just like i had always expected but i never actually thought you’d do it. i’d always wondered why you wore your heart on your sleeve and i was finally about to find out. you clawed at my chest until i bled, only to proceed until you got to my heart, tearing it out to take with you the minute you left. you didn’t know what bandaids were, didn’t know how to stitch up a gash that you had made. you spewed out apology after apology, as if that was supposed to make up for the damage you had done. not once did i hear “let me call for help”, “you need to see a doctor”, “let’s get you to the hospital.”

“i’m sorry” didn’t heal the wounds that i left on you, but apparently you thought differently.