When Bad Things Happen...

....they tend to come in battalions.
For weekends gone bad, this one takes the cake.  First I felt panicky because in my view we were a full week behind on yard work.  But deep inside I also had concerns about my research paper (typing it today to see where I am) and being ready for class on Wednesday (now completed).
The result can be described in one word: Pop.  As in pop goes the proverbial balloon inside me.  What followed as grisly: a sleepless night, a mood that was worse than horrible yesterday (if that's even possible), and a lot of daytime spent sleeping because I was so far gone I didn't know where I was at times.  And, typical of me, I started lashing out at people unnecessarily, too...this time it was worse than before.
What time I didn't spend sleeping was spent finishing my notes for Wednesday's class and letting a couple of friends here help start piecing together what went wrong and perhaps more importantly where the underlying problems are.  Today will probably be more of the same, especially now that I've ticked a few people off.
The shame of it is that the only two reactions I have, because I'm used to them, are panic and "pop".  Neither is good.  When both come, you can be pretty sure disaster will result.
I'm starting to wonder if I shouldn't go back on citalopram (I was on it once, three years ago) now that I'm actually willing to talk out how I feel here.