These are not my hands.

How I Finally Stopped Biting My Nails

Spoiler alert: Drugs. It was drugs.

One of my earliest memories is sitting in the clawed-to-bits (why were they so clawed? Our dog didn’t do it? The world may never know) seats of my mom’s Volkswagen van before preschool as she hunched over my impossibly small fingers. Her hair was spilling over her shoulders, which it always did because it was very long and beautiful and I’m…