Ravaged.

Look at this hand. Not only is it ravaged by time, work and the sun, but also by one of my many neurotic behaviours: I bite my nails.
It's more than biting, really. I snag whatever I can of the beleaguered nails, with my teeth, and rip away until they bleed. I've been doing this for as long as I can remember. I recall my mom telling me, when I was a kid, that my habit was down-right cannibalistic.
When I was in the 4th grade, I had to see a child psychologist, because I was having problems in school. He asked me if I was nervous. To me, "nervous" meant being shaky and jittery, like a cartoon or sitcom character. I hesitantly answered no. He then told me that the reason he had asked was because of my nails.
Yeah, I'm nervous. I've been nervous my whole life.
Nail biting is one of the things on my personal tics list that I can't seem to shake. Half of the time, I don't even realize I'm doing it. It's self mutilation.
As Barney Fife would say, "It's a compelsion (sic)."