my disgusting habit

I was playing with Ella, pretend-tackling her into my pillows on my bed when she said, "JJ ouchie? Ouch, JJ, ouch!" She put her teeny little slivers of fingers on my fingernail, pointing at a barely-scabbed-over "boo-boo" just below my nail.
I've bitten my fingernails for years...15, actually. It started because of those stupid Bernstein Bears books--"Sister Bear Breaks a Habit." I remember that book because Sister Bear had a terrible habit in which she chewed and chewed and chewed her nails.
For some ungodly reason, I decided to become the termite of philanges.
Yes, it's a nervous habit. It's also a bored habit, an "I'm preoccupied" habit, a reactional habit...one that calls for some action to be made in an awkward situation. Biting my fingers has become my crutch, and when all my fingernails were in peeled, layered nubs, I would pick and pick and pick at my skin and cuticles until little lines and drops of blood would bubble up on my skin. Then I sucked up the blood until it was gone.
Oh who am I kidding, I still do it. Maybe not as bad. Now I can actually stand to have a few centimeters of finernail, but they usually don't last long. I partially blame it on softball, because who can pitch or throw in nails? But still...it's still here. Even my 22-month old niece can spot a problem that I can't seem to just fix.