It would start out as a callous on the knuckle of the index finger of my left hand. This callous would develop from a soft toy doll that I'd sleep with. Even though the doll was soft, it had a dense seam that I enjoyed grinding my knuckle into. Then I'd pick at and bite the callous. Or I'd stick a pencil, pin or nail into it. It would hurt. It would bleed. But I liked doing it.
Back then I was very ashamed of letting anyone see the knuckle, especially my mother. I made sure to keep it hidden. If I had to point, I'd use my right hand, or I point with my pinky while I kept the knuckle tucked under my thumb.
I don't have the doll anymore, but I still go through spells in which I form the callous using the inside seam of blue jeans as I sit at my computer. I am no longer ashamed, though. First, no one but my daughter calls attention to it. Second, it's just what I call "Nerves," or a manifestation of anxiety from having a partly disabled wife; a gifted, eccentric daughter with massive inferiority beliefs; and a dwindling bank account due to expenses that exceed my income.
Eventually, I'll wrap a bandage around it to prevent myself from picking and biting, and it will look normal.
Here is "Nerves" for you to see:
|Skin Picking Disorder -- Left Index Finger|