the anxiety that made no sense ate from the inside out.
before i knew it i felt a sting in my fingers and realized i was picking at them again.
i watched blood rise from the raw muscle underneath the skin that was no longer there.
i pressed down on it with a tissue,
closing my eyes from the sting.
it hurt to bend my fingers.
a wave of shame and embarrassment washed over me,
i didn't want to show my hands anymore.

i watch the skin around my finger grow back only to pull it off again.
my fingers ache every morning,
and lately they ache holding a pencil.
this has taken over my life.
no, i'm sorry the reason why i can't shake or hold your hands is not because i'm sick but because i'm scared you'll see my hands and look at me with disgusted eyes,
or skin i haven't yet picked off will get caught onto yours.
i can't stop.
if you sat me in  a room with nothing,
my anxiety would grow and sooner or later the skin that has been brought to life again would end up on the floor.