A Solitary Crisis

For the past few weeks I've been battling a combination of anxiety, depression, and infected bug bites.  That last one might sound unrelated except that when your entire forearm or calf or foot or [whatever] is swollen, you can't exercise vigorously.  And we all know how important exercise is to bipolars.

Did I mention that I also sprained an ankle?

Right now, I'm not sure how safe I am.  I had brief episode of racing thoughts last night which resulted in a "mad scribblings" session despite an exhausting day.  Then my husband woke up at 3am to leave for a business trip, mentioned that his car might have been broken into, and then left.  I think it took me 2 or 3 hours to fall asleep again.  Even better, my first news of the day was "Your last bug bite had a bacterial infection." 

I wish I hadn't gotten out of bed.

Part of me wants to smack myself on the head and say "Snap out of it!"  I have a pretty comfortable life - not luxurious but then again my idea of luxury is going out for tea everyday instead of 1-2 a week.  If I stopped caring about how others perceive me, I could have a lot of fun working on my own projects.  Instead, I dread doing housework, I feel unattractive so I hide in sweats, I get stressed out by social interactions so I stay home, I worry about money so I avoid going out, and I don't have anyone local that I feel comfortable turning to in this state.  Common sense would say to call a hotline, take more meds, go nap, go to the ER, so many things.  But I'm getting so sick of all that.  I just want to take a knife and cut off this chapter of my life.  I swear that 2012 is out to get me - I experience bad things every 3 years - and I refuse to let myself give in.  Yet giving up is so tempting...