I need to go to a meeting.

Hi. I’m Veronica and I’m a nail biter. I’ve been sober for 547 days, but …

… but today … [sigh] … today I cracked.

After carrying files around with me, being strong when a nail has torn, ignoring a peel until I was near a pair of clippers and an emery board, keeping my digits as far away from my teeth as possible … I …

I threw it all away! I had been good. I saw the tear and went for the file. I thought I had fixed it. An hour later, my thumb brushed my jeans and I felt the teeniest of snags. Sure enough, the nail still had damn near invisible tear.

I was on my way back to my desk. So it could have gone untreated for the next 30 seconds.

But I caved. I bit. I bit the nail and tore it with my teeth. It was quick and dirty.

And I needed more.

I ducked into a stairwell and ran to the corner where I continued to bite the entire width of the nail down to just above the quick.

I wasn’t satisfied when I had finished—when the nail was just about nub length. If anything, it made me want to work on the other nine nails. I had to dash back to my desk and douse my fingertips with oils and creams to make them, the nails, as unappealing as possible.

But as I admit all of this to you, all I can think about is chewing on that thumbnail. Finishing it off completely and then biting it until it’s painful.

I feel like a failure. I’ve quit so many times. This was the longest I’ve made it—a year and a half!

I’m going to be strong. I’m not going to chew on the other nails. I’m going to ignore them and let them grow strong. I’m going to take vitamins and file them down if I have to.

I will do anything I can to prevent myself from biting them all off in another moment of weakness.

I’m Veronica. I’m a nail biter. And I’ve been sober for three hours.