I stopped biting my nails because my boyfriend noticed.
He wanted to understand why, and it was hard for me to explain. I don’t know where or why it started, but I’ve done it for as long as I remember.
My mom offered me $100 once to stop. I stopped for 48 hours. I did not get the $100.
A couple years ago I tried getting manicures, until I started grinding my teeth at the nail bed. In a fit of pique, I bit them all off.
I don’t know why I do it. I think it’s a physical manifestation of the roiling anxiety that plagues me on a constant basis. I worry about everything, legitimate or not.
If I’m going to get a parking ticket.
If I was too mean in that last text.
If I’m a failure.
If I’m gonna make it out before traffic.
If he’s going to hate me for the rest of his life.
If lunch is gonna give me the shits.
And so on. So I bit, and I’ve bit my nails down to an unrecognizable shape.
My best friend would swat my hand away from my mouth. I’d stop, and then unconsciously start again.
But it took a patient and accepting hand, who clasped mine as he noticed, to get me to stop this time.
I just got a manicure, and for the first time since I can remember my hands approximate normality. I don’t feel embarrassed to shake hands or meet people. I don’t want to consume myself.
I’m going to try to stick with it this time. I’m going to try to improve.
