I wish I was one of those girls with the perfectly strong, long nails that reach above their finger tip gracefully extending the lines of their fingers. You know, the girls with the fresh coat of pastel blue nail polish, with skin so smooth it looks untouched.
But I am not.
Instead, I am a girl with brittle nails that don’t even pass my finger. A girl with raw, red skin, torn from biting and pulling. My fingers are lined with scabs and rips. My nails are weak, and my cuticles are imperfectly messy. My fingers take the physical form of my stress, especially through junior year.
My hands have scabs and rips that show my emotional state. At this point, I don’t even notice when I am biting my fingers. It’s automatic, unconscious. I only realize when my nails become so short they burn, or my skin cuts so deep they bleed. But I don’t bite my nails to feel the pain, I bite my nails to distract myself. Maybe it gives my anxiety somewhere to go, even if it’s just to the tips of my fingers.
When I go to get my nails done, I have to prepare myself for the inevitable lecture by the nail tech telling me “your nails are too short and weak”, or even once telling my friend “she has a very bad habit.” They are not wrong, my nails are brittle, and at this point I can’t grow them out without them breaking. Maybe it is the perfectionist in me, clearing away the white tips, trying to smooth them out until they all but disappear. The perfectionist in me is trying to clean up my nails, but in turn damaging them.
Once I have bitten or picked to a certain point the skin becomes raw, new and exposed. To stop myself from continuing to bite, I cover the raw skin with a bandaid. This is my protection, barrier and my support. It shields my tender skin from further damage and allows it to heal.
During junior year, my stress has shown through my cut up fingers. My nails are imperfect, damaged by my stress. That being said, nails grow and skin heals. I don’t think this is a habit I will ever stop (and trust me I have tried), but the imperfections of my torn skin and stubby nails is something I have decided to accept.
This solution is not perfect, but neither am I.
