it's picking not biting

it started when i was very young. my mom caught me. i had picked one of my fingernails down until it was so short it had bled. i had tried to hide it in shame but i couldn't. she was sitting on the couch with me and the weather channel was on. my sister was on the couch as well. it was our old tan one before it was replaced with cream later on. and so it started.  the soothing release, the sense of accomplishment when i get part off. it expands to the skin around the nail as when i pick at them hard my nail i am using to pick can slip and hit the skin just beyond the base of the nail. red and inflamed permanently from all the friction and picking. it's not the only source of red. the blood dried from nails picked to short or too much skin picked off blushes the ends of my fingers. it makes sense, as i am permanently embarrassed. my mom once offered me $100 for each nail i stopped picking. i could have had $1000 as like a 12 year old. i failed to stop one. i try to hide my hands casually, waiting for the inevitable comment to come. "you bite your nails?" it's picking not biting. it's more hygienic. so i tell my self.

im on the couch again, 25 years later. im picking in shame, hiding my right hand over the side of the couch. my wife suggests i fiddle with a hair tie. it fulfils my need for movement but the sense of accomplishment is gone. there is no damage to revel in. no painful finish. she suggests writing. it uses my hands and has a concrete goal. i read the post and grimace at the poor quality of writing. a painful finish.