Lariam is the devil
Bleh. My primary care doc is out of town until the day after I leave, so I had to throw myself on the tender mercies of the nearest walk-in clinic. The good news is there shouldn't be any problem switching antimalarials, and I have a prescription for Malarone; the bad news is they gave me all sorts of crap about psych meds. ("why aren't you on antidepressants?" um, because I have a history of depression, not a current problem, at least before Lariam started fucking with me. "you know it wouldn't be a problem to bring your Adderall past Ivoirian customs?" oh, great, can you write me a refill, 'cos that would stabilize my mood and help me get through the immediate effects of this shitstorm. "not for a walk-in, unless you have your prescription bottle handy." okay fine I will go home and grab it and come back. "wait, you're back? well these prescription dates and quantities are all fucked up and we can't write you anything, fuck off and stop trying to get an early refill on controlled substances.") Due to the foul mood that started all this, all attempts to interpret this as "sorry, the DEA are bastards and our hands are tied" rather than "you are an awful and suspicious individual who is probably drug-seeking and/or selling speed on elementary school playgrounds" are about as successful as trying to tie up my own legs to stop uncontrollably kicking myself. I cannot deal with doctors being assholes right now; hell, I almost broke down crying yesterday when a bunch of fast-food employees kept screwing up my lunch order.
The best antidote at the moment is basically reminding myself that this is only the Lariam fucking with me. This is not terribly difficult, as it seems like every time I mention what's going on, someone corroborates the horror stories without even being prompted. Like the coworker whose first reaction to "blurgh, mefloquine side effects" was not "oh, nausea?" or "oh, nightmares?" but "oh, it's making you crazy, isn't it? Yeah, that's why most of us don't take it."
On the bright side, the effect does appear to be fading somewhat? At least, enough for me to have some success self-medicating with Downton Abbey (almost caught up with season 2; I will motherfucking cut anyone who leaves finale spoilers in the comments), Tumblr gif porn, and late-night IM convos about David Tennant, sexual objectification, and gendered body-language cues. Okay, mostly trying to pin down why Tennant is a walking "fuck me" sign, but it got into some very interesting picking-apart of poses and body language in photoshoots and BBC promos. Which meant staring at a lot of photos of David Tennant looking fuckable, which is far from the worst thing one could be doing to stave off crazy med-induced hatred of everything.
The best antidote at the moment is basically reminding myself that this is only the Lariam fucking with me. This is not terribly difficult, as it seems like every time I mention what's going on, someone corroborates the horror stories without even being prompted. Like the coworker whose first reaction to "blurgh, mefloquine side effects" was not "oh, nausea?" or "oh, nightmares?" but "oh, it's making you crazy, isn't it? Yeah, that's why most of us don't take it."
On the bright side, the effect does appear to be fading somewhat? At least, enough for me to have some success self-medicating with Downton Abbey (almost caught up with season 2; I will motherfucking cut anyone who leaves finale spoilers in the comments), Tumblr gif porn, and late-night IM convos about David Tennant, sexual objectification, and gendered body-language cues. Okay, mostly trying to pin down why Tennant is a walking "fuck me" sign, but it got into some very interesting picking-apart of poses and body language in photoshoots and BBC promos. Which meant staring at a lot of photos of David Tennant looking fuckable, which is far from the worst thing one could be doing to stave off crazy med-induced hatred of everything.