An Apology to My Fingertips

To my fingertips, 

I’m sorry.  I’m sorry that I bite and gnaw at you when I’m feeling bored or nervous.  I’m sorry that I pick and chew at you until you bleed.  I’m sorry that I rip the scabs from your body only for the bleeding to start again.  

My constant grooming of you bothers me too.  I think its gross and quite painful, but unfortunately I can’t seem to stop.  Is it satisfactory? Rarely.  Most times when I pull the skin back from your shoulders, I am only left with the remnants of more skin to be pulled.  The satisfaction of a clean, concise tear of the skin, that leaves behind no excess flesh is rare indeed.  

I even bought special clippers, you know, the ones they use on you at the nail salon? Yes, those.  Those nail clippers that can get each and every little bit of skin that my large front teeth can’t seem to reach.  Even with those fancy clippers, I can’t help but get over excited with my clipping and clip just a little to much, causing the skin to break, and blood to flow.  You are so raw and tender to the touch, I can hardly bare to look at you. 

Yet, even while I’m writing this apology to you, at every pause in thought, at every punctuation marked, I look back to you and begin to pick, pick, pick.  So, while I’m saying I’m sorry, with a heavy heart, I cannot promise that I will stop. For I find you at my teeth before I have had the chance to think about the pain I am causing you.  Before I have had the chance to think of the pain I am causing myself.  Because something about that biting and picking is comforting to me. 

My apologies, 

Madison