He’s such a child

The more I learn about this man, the less he surprises me.

——

Let’s talk self-harm, shall we?

I’ve never been one for blood, so conventional self-harm is something I’ve never been interested in.

But. I bite the shit out of my nails. My pinkies, usually.

The number of days I walk around with one of my pinkies covered in a band-aid wrap of my own creation is astonishing. I’ve actually managed to lose count of the number of times I’ve done it recently.

Thursday morning, I ripped off the ENTIRE pinky nail on my right hand. Like down to the cuticle. Gone, baby, gone. Just like that.

Can you believe I was pissed that it didn’t hurt? PISSED.

Isn’t that the whole point of self-harm? To replace mental pain with something tangible? To distract you from what’s really going on?

The only thing I got out of it is a band-aid on my pinky that gets in the way when I type.

The most ironic part of this?

A few years ago, I went to see a hypnotist about breaking my nail biting habit. Under hypnosis, and I mean completely under, she asked me why I bit my nails.

I told her it was a comfort thing.

And that I wasn’t going to stop.

Maybe I should have seen someone about curbing my self-harm habit instead…

I’m a little over trying to type with band-aids on my pinkies.