For as long as my brain can remember events in my life, those memories always include bloody fingers.
I was a “picker.” I never chewed my fingernails, but I always picked at my cuticles. I was OCD about having no cuticles, but my OCD carried me away. I would pick and pick until my fingers were all bloody and I didn’t have any fingerprints. This stemmed from an extreme case of anxiety. I would just sit, and think about all the things I had to do (mind you, this was happening as an 8 year old. What was I SO worried about, not getting a prime swing at the park??) Instead of actually doing anything, I would just continually stress about it and pick at my fingers.
Recently, my very good friend freaked out when she noticed how beautiful my hands were! I had stopped picking!! I had stopped picking for so long that my fingers were not even a shade of recovery pink. My digits were a normal looking pale (although my thumbs still have faint prints). However, just a few days after she notices my boyfriend broke up with me. I started to panic. Am I going to go back into my depression? Am I going to have panic attacks? Am i going to start picking my fingers again? I had started to freak out about the potential of all these things without really having a reason too, that’s how used to my anxiety I am! It’s been a little over a month now….I had a week of panic attacks. But I realized I wasn’t depressed. I wasn’t even sad. My fingers are still beautiful. My friend even asked me, “Ya know…you are having way more fun without ____.”
Now, whenever I look at my fingers I remember that I have control over everything. These fingers are a symbol of work I have overcome in terms of my long lasting depression, my dependency on others for happiness, and my general outlook on life. These fingers are the makers of their own happiness – it’s up to them whether it’s a bloody battle or a modeling career.