Anxious Hands

If you want to peer into my mind, look at my hands.

Chipped nail polish decorating unkempt nail beds and jagged finger pads. Weathered skin surrounding them, blushing my fingers from embarrassment as I hold the rail on the subway for all to see.

The anxiety is eating me away- my mind, the pigment in my hair, and my hands.

Biting nails is for weak amateurs; I’ve escalated to a new level of neuroticism. My fingers are my platters to feast upon since I can’t eat a full meal without my heart, head, and stomach in knots. Instead my teeth teach my index and middle finger a lesson, leaving them angrily red like a child’s bottom after a spanking.

The workers at the nail salon chide me- “tut tut, what you doing to your hands? Only so much I can do to make look good!” As my cheeks turn the color of my scarred fingers. The razor-sharp edges of my hands could cut the extra thread Forever 21 always leaves on it’s sweaters.

Long sleeves are my best friend, especially when I can pull them over my limbs and feign clammy hands. I am the queen at averting eye contact on the D train during rush hour as I share a hand rail with five other commuters, all puzzled and wondering if I was the lady who got mauled by that dog on the news.

If you’re ever curious about what is going through my head at any given moment, locate my hands. Covering my mouth? It’s probably a long, bad day ahead of me. Hiding in a pocket? Yesterday was even worse; like getting your eyebrows waxed, the red ring sticks around for a while.

It’s shame I walk around with day after day since before I could spell the word anxiety. When I tried to tell my doctor I had anxiety, I showed him my hands without saying anything. I’ve never seen him write a prescription so quickly.

This is something I will live with for my entire life. It’s not a bad habit that I can quit cold turkey. This is me trying to destroy myself physically externally and emotionally internally. I have lived with this for eleven years, and it’s only gotten worse.

If my hands could talk, they could tell you more about anxiety than my doctor with the quick signature ever could.