“If this had happened to you 20 years ago, you’d be out of luck,” said my doctor.

This after telling me I would fully recover from a rare bout of psoriasis that covered 80% to 90% of my body and put me in the hospital. He also told me to have more cocktails, which I appreciated because, holy shit, did I need a drink.

I looked monstrous. My scalp was white and the scales had covered my body looking like a corpse that had molded over and forgot to die. My skin was also swollen and red as if I had the worst sunburn you could imagine. It felt like it too. I covered the floor with sheets of my skin that peeled off with every step. You had to use a large garden broom and pan to sweep up the pieces of me I left behind. The itching was unbearable.

But the doctor told me everything was going to be okay. I just needed the right medication and time because it wasn’t 20 years ago. It was this time last year and, for a time, I thought my life was over.

I remember staring into the mirror in the morning and crying out for help. Somebody, anybody, help me. Prior to being admitted into the hospital, my doctors still debated whether I had psoriasis or something far more nefarious. I was placed in a room where dozens of the best dermatologists in the area examined me, mostly silently, and then sent me home to wait for a phone call that didn’t provide the clarity I hoped.

In the meantime I was alone in my house, desperate to distract myself, and ruminating on all of the dreams and desires that were dying with all of the dead skin shedding off of me every second.

Simple acts I took for granted were taken from me. No more trips outside the house without someone staring at me wondering, ignorantly, if they would catch whatever I was suffering from. No more activities in the harsh sun because my skin couldn’t handle it anymore. I also couldn’t imagine why anyone would love a monster like me. I kept my girlfriend away as if protecting her from seeing me was a noble act instead of the hurtful one it was. A number of physical issues manifested too, like an inability to sweat and threats to my organs and heart that made even moderate physical activity risky.

You would think I was reaching out to the important people in my life for the physical and emotional support I needed but I didn’t. I revealed my condition to few. Suffering silently, alone, and powering through as I always did. It’s what I thought was expected of me. I wonder if we glorify the singular hero who powers through tremendous adversity alone too much in our culture because who really gets through anything alone? Every visionary, hero, and great person of history had people who cared about them lifting them up and teams of people to help make the accomplishments we celebrate a reality. No one is self-made and no one should suffer alone.

There I was, unable to drive myself anywhere due to the physical affects of my condition, crumbling emotionally and psychologically, and I was still quick with a self-deprecating joke and assuring the few who knew that I was going to be okay when I was anything but. My mom was there everyday helping me with what she could. She sacrificed a lot and did her best to be a bright light when I wasn’t always receptive to letting any light in.

I would go on walks as the sun was setting, listening to a lot of Frank Ocean, and thinking about everything. Every mistake, every relationship I sabotaged, and considering what might’ve been had I made a different choice at all points in my life all at once. I was all alone with nothing but my regrets and struggling to find the hope I needed within myself. I never reached out enough to those who love me.

It took about three and a half months for my skin to return to some kind of normal and another month or so for me to recover physically enough to reenter the world. But I wasn’t restored. I still felt broken because what I was missing in my life was the ability to let others in. To allow those who love me to help me. Not just physically with the tasks I couldn’t perform at my worst, or emotionally when I was on the verge of slipping into the abyss. Love is also letting those who love you to actually love you.

I’m happy to say I’m good now. I have to take medication on a monthly basis to keep the psoriasis at bay and I’m still healing everyday. You would have no idea what I’ve been through if you saw me, just like my doctor promised almost a year ago in a lonely hospital room.

I also have a cocktail every now and then like he ordered.

No one thinks of psoriasis as a life threatening disease but what I had could have been, though probably unlikely. It threatened my life in a way that wasn’t visible or easily downplayed in a commercial for the latest treatment during a football game.

I suppose I just want to let anyone suffering out there that you are not alone and please don’t let yourself suffer alone. Allow those who love you to love you. The light we need is all around us if we just open the shades and let it in.

Happy New Year.