Healing

I have this plant I keep giving water almost every week. I never forget, each time I see it, I water it. it became a habit, automatic. today I was somewhere else entirely. I had fallen into my head, and I needed anything to pull me out of my own head. And when I saw the plant today, it was empty. dry in a way I hadn’t seen before. maybe for the first time since I got it. I had been watering it recently. I know I had. but I hadn’t looked at it, not really, in a long time. not stopped to notice it the way I used to. the plant didn’t remind me of itself. it reminded me of everyone. all the ones who are gone now, I started to trace how they left, and every line I followed led back to the same place. I had been present enough to maintain things, present enough to keep the habit, but somewhere along the way I had gone fully inside myself, into that sealed interior where nothing outside can reach me. and in that withdrawal, I let things die slowly. not from cruelty but from absence. maybe you’re still doing the motions, still watering the plants, still showing up in some technical sense. but you’re not there, and people feel that, even when you don’t. and then you come back one day and find the room already empty, the distance already permanent, and nothing you can say accounts for the time you were gone. I was the one that shot on everything I loved. over many moments of not looking, not stopping, not being willing to step outside myself long enough to appreciate what was still alive in front of me. I don’t know what to do with that yet. but I know I keep coming back to the plant. like maybe if I look at it long enough now, something counts.

Humans are full of love. full of empathy at their core. they were born to love, not to hate. the state of hate costs a man more than loving ever could, loving prospers, hate drains. you can feel this in the texture of any given day. the meaning you pull from it, the power you feel inside it, it traces back almost always to the love you’re carrying. for a mother, a father, a brother, a sister, a lover. a man is full of those emotions.

The image I held about myself was always vague. if I am being honest, I never truly liked myself. I never paused long enough to build a clear internal picture of who I was beyond performance and ambition. this whole psychology conversation about self image and inner narratives felt unnecessary to me. I did not have a defined understanding of self worth. when someone asked me if I believed I was worthy of love, I genuinely did not know how to answer. I did not spend time thinking about those questions. they did not feel practical. they would not buy me the Lamborghini I wanted, so why should they occupy space in my mind. for the longest time, introspection felt like a luxury I don’t want to invest in.

We carry this thought in the back of our heads. it is subtle. it is subconscious. it is so invisible that even when you write and write, trying to drag it from the subconscious into the conscious, it refuses to show itself clearly. instead, you only feel the symptoms, the void, the emptiness, the sense of being lost. but beneath all of that, there is something deeply rooted.

There is a catalyst behind every better decision you have ever made., it is the urge for change.