Today I walked into work and the first thing my boss said was, "You have a lot more color in your face than you've had for a long time. You look less wrinkled." It reminded me of something a guy I dated once said to me: "You look...ragged."

I've felt ragged for a long time, but haven't known why. I eat properly, try to take care of myself, but still feel like ass. This isn't meant as a "poor me" blog entry, or even a venting entry, more of a pondering entry. Because like so many other cases of imbalance in my past--recovery from addiction, depression, anxiety--why the fuck should a seemingly healthy 30 year old feel like the energy was being sucked out of her with a 2" slurpee straw, 24/7?

Thyroid is fine. Bloodwork is fine. They say it's chronic fatigue, but what the hell does that mean anyway? Why would someone have swollen lymphnodes, night sweats, lowgrade fever, night terrors, chronic infections that according to the labwork, don't register anything...for years? Here I am again, banging on the door of Western medicine, and all they have to say is, "We need your $25 copay, please."

So what do you do? You think outside the box. You live outside the box. You take your health into your own hands, because nobody else is helping you.

The good news is, all of this bullshit is essentially a gift. It's a gift, because it's forced me outside of myself and outside the mainstream to acquire what's essentially a medicine bag. In my bag are blessings that help me do more than just cope. They help me thrive. I pull apart the purse strings and look inside: there is poetry, photography, mixed media, painting. There is a knowledge of homeopathic medicine, yoga, sauna & cleansing, meditation, visualization, affirmations. There is music, dance, nature. My friends. My family. Cats.

At times my energy drops off so severely I forget that I carry my own best medicine. So sometimes, the biggest challenge is remembering that the bag is there. Realizing that you are your own master is like driving through high altitudes and suddenly your ears pop. Your head opens and there is a familiar feeling, and you think, "Wow. That feels amazing. What a relief."

Last night I went to the gym, then an art lecture, then had an amazing talk with my boyfriend about the creative process. He showed me a gadget he made that induces alpha waves, and I meditated in the dark with it on for 10 minutes. If that put more color in my cheeks...call me a freak, I don't care. I am grateful.

A few minutes ago I had to run an errand for my boss. Though only 9AM, the humidity was oppressive and I longed for the dry heat of the desert, of home. Then suddenly, a cool wind blew toward me and I stopped in my tracks. Closed my eyes, remembered who I really am. It's not this crappy job, it's not my appearance, it's something like the wind. It just goes on.

I peeled my shirt away from my sweat-drenched skin in gratutide:

"Wow. That feels amazing. What a relief."

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Nancy e. Pearsall is a photographer, poet, and peregrine.