My Own Attacker Poem by hidden poet

The dry air makes my skin crack.
At these altitudes the pressure pounding down on me.
My nose bleeds.
The blood in the sink brings back a memory;
a painful one
with my blood in the sink.

In the memory the blood was from a blade to my arm.
In those days I was my own attacker.
The memory floods my brain
and all I see is red.

I tear the shirt from my body.
It feels so restrictive.
Then I claw at my jewelry and hair tie too.
Soon I'm sitting on the floor in my underwear,
and I'm trying to clean up the blood.

I fear that the memory is taking over.
The desire to hurt myself is back.
I haven't had to fight myself in so long-
do I remember how?

I know that my attacker doesn't play fair.
She's mean, she'll bring up all my weaknesses.
But that's where I've got her.
SHE is my biggest weakness.
To win all I have to do is ignore her.
If I cut myself I lose, but I am in charge here.

My nose has stopped bleeding.
The blood has all run down the sink.
I put my clothes back on,
put my hair back up,
and my jewelry too.

I win this round.