(self)Trapped in my own bedroom

So, a long time ago, my fiance and I decided it would probably be good for our relationship as well as our home, if we got a cleaning lady in twice a month to handle the major cleaning: kitchen and bathroom, general area vacuuming.  When we first moved in together, we agreed on certain chores, but as most couples do, you find that you get annoyed when the other half isn't holding up their end.  At the end of the day, he works pretty much all the time, and I have a highly irregular schedule and often am not home for weeks or months at a time.  So, it makes sense and it was one of the best decisions we ever made.  When either of us comes home after our lady has been here, we smile and feel at peace.  It's like magic.  She doesn't just clean, she tidies and usually, due to my travel schedule, the apartment is like a dumping place for my equipment and clothes. And we love her.  Our cleaning lady is like family.  I trust her with the keys to our place.  Ok, it's a cramped 2 bedroom apartment rather than a manse, but you get the drift.  I have always had such a great relationship with her - we talk about our lives and how her kids are doing.  She was one of the happiest people to see my boyfriend and me get engaged.  And yet, because I have been depressed, I haven't been able to face her.  I was asleep when she got here earlier, but I definitely heard her come in.  I am unable to leave the bedroom.  The thought of going out and seeing her makes me anxious.  I know it's irrational - this is my apartment.  I just feel like I have to act "normal" around her and I definitely don't feel normal.  I am not sure I have the energy to pretend to be cheery and like my regular self. So I am in the bedroom waiting for her to leave.   This all probably sounds very self indulgent - boo hoo, you have a cleaning lady.  But the POINT is that I feel like I have to stay in here until she leaves.  WTF.  Sigh.  I know I shouldn't be so anxious about something so small, but I'm not sure how to handle it. I just reread some of this and it occurs to me, I think I am anxious because she is like a friend and I have been unable to see or talk to any of my friends.  I just don't feel up to talking to people about what I've been going through.  That's why I have this....a place to talk about it without feeling bad.   As I was writing this, L knocked on my door.  She wanted to see how I am doing - said she missed me since I've been gone so long and last time she was here, I was in bed sleeping.  We talked and I told her I had been sick.  We caught up a bit and I was a little bit anxious, but it was good to see her.  I just felt so naked.  Guilty.  Like I shouldn't be in bed unless I physically look like I'm dying.  I guess I still have to deal with the fact that depression is real not just for me, us, but for the world, even if they don't believe it.