Chronic fatigue has made weeknights rough lately. Despite ritualistic adherence to my azathioprine and hydroxychloroquine, my autoimmune disease zaps my physical and mental strength before the day ends. The moment my right foot crosses the threshold into our condo, I want to collapse.

Eight-hour workdays leave me feeling like I spent them picking anthracite from the walls of an Appalachian coal mine. My muscles feel like they’re sagging—even though I have gained strength. I gulp ultra-caffeinated preworkout energy boosters to start and finish my days.

Sports injuries have forced me to cut back on gym sessions. Between plantar fasciitis in both feet and extensor tendonitis in my right foot, I’m surprised I can stand. And of course, my inflamed lower spine aches and causes me to slouch.

Admittedly, some of this will get better. Sports injuries can be avoided with proper stretching and icing. I have scheduled monthly massages to repair my muscles and soothe my spine. And I’m only three months into a new job—every day feels like a full load of college classes, everything a lesson.

But for those like me with an overactive immune system, feeling tired and stressed can easily escalate to feeling exhausted and overwhelmed. Since stopping steroids in August, I feel like I’m walking through life perpetually sick, minus the drippy nose and sore throat.

I sometimes feel demotivated and depressed despite being otherwise happy with myself and my life. I can’t concentrate enough to read. I don’t have much energy to write or play guitar. I’m embarrassed to admit it took two hours over two evenings to pen even this.

I finished the latest seasons of Netflix’s best shows (Lucifer, Sex Education, and Derry Girls) months ago. Amazon Originals have never held my interest. The NFL airs the least exciting games of the season on weeknights. I have no energy or focus to start my Disneyland-ride-long cue of Great Courses lectures.

Nonetheless, I’m trying to stay positive. I’m trying to meet my goals. I’m trying to reignite my passion to write. I don’t want to make life one long binge watch.

I recall all the great things that have happened since this disease began—a new condo, a new job, a new guitar, another year with my girlfriend. I even earned the next certification level for proposal management. Come to think of it, while these summer months have been a drag, I’ve actually accomplished a lot in the last 18 months. I just wonder, as I did months ago, how much of it was me, how much was the prednisone. Has chronic fatigue become my new normal?