Anxiety, climbing to an ultrasonic high. Depression, falling to an infrasonic low. Hold me down, make me see sense. Look at me, before I disappear altogether. Am I so poisonous? 

Maybe she is fed up with me, she knows, as I know, how much better I could do. Yet, ever does the cage around me hold its place. No wrath, no shaking will bring it down. 

I feel ill with the belittling way I treat myself. I'm so tired of trying. I'm so tired of my self-hate.