Skin picking is one of the best therapies (I remember doing it around the time of the month-long mental hostel stay; I guess I'm about as anxious as then). Punching trees got old (my old therapy). Self-harm is frowned upon, and it makes my mother worried, so I don't do that anymore (though it helped, albeit not for long). There's no real compulsion that I feel can remove the anxiety of loss. Enter, skin picking till you bleed, then picking again and again. Good times. Thanks.
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