Every time you bite your nails, you’re trying to clip away a little of your stress – to literally take the edge off – or you pick at a scab or a pimple or an ingrown hair, hoping that the part of yourself you pull away is the part that made you look for something to pick at in the first place.

You can’t after all pick and pick at the thoughts in your head in a tangible sort of a way – you can only try to dull the noise, hoping that something- picking, alcohol, nicotine – can silence the world in your head like a blanket of snow can silence a city.

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