I bite my nails. And the skin around them. It’s a disgusting habit, one I’ve tried to conquer for over a decade.
It’s about anxiety, anxiety I don’t even register until I realize I’m biting my nails.
My skin is dry, especially now, and when I pick at the skin around my already ravaged finger nails I eventually get cracks at the corners. They are relatively small little fissures, but they hurt like crazy. Lately I have at least one at any given moment, sometimes as many as three or four. When they get really deep, I cover them in ointment and wrap them in a bandaid. They usually take a day or two to heal, but as soon as one feels better, another opens up.
They are such small nuances, but they cause me so much discomfort. You’d think they’d be the perfect motivator–the kind of natural consequence that gets someone to stop doing something they know they shouldn’t do. And yet, even they are not a powerful enough deterent. I guess I’ll be biting my nails forever.