Stanford University

A bitter, repulsive taste invaded my mouth as I bit my nails. The taste belonged to the remedy I had turned to fix an unpleasant habit—bitter polish. I’ve been biting my nails for as long as I can remember. My nail beds begged for mercy at once. Hands have the power to write, draw, and go—yet I miss used mine. While biting my nails, my thoughts collided with atoms in a confined space, pressing upon each other until they had to be released. My hands entrapped my ideas within my head, and the only solution was to set them free. The plan: Whenever I wanted to bite my nails, I’d draw instead,…