Your companion Ezekiel

Lately, I’ve been in a slump. I need commitment, responsibilities. The feeling is hard to explain, but when you actually feel like you have a purpose or someone to care for, it’s easier to get out of bed in the mornings. It makes you want to get up.

The only social interactions I’ve been having are with weird men online or with my family when I get food from the kitchen. To anyone in real life, I feel like a burden. After weeks of being in my room, trying to drown out the rut, desperately trying to turn my life around and get any dopamine I possibly can, I decide to get a plant. A little companion, something meaningful to have in my life.

I name him Ezekiel and hyperfixate on him for the first few days, trying to overcompensate for my pitiful lifestyle. I treat him like he’s my son, my best friend in a way, talking to him about my problems daily. I start to feel like my life is slowly getting better. But who am I kidding? It’s just a plant. It’s not going to fix my problems.

After a while, I fall back into my old habits: constantly sleeping in, being online, smoking, drinking, eating junk. I start forgetting about my little cactus. I’ve gotten used to having my drapes closed all the time, it’s become a constant in my life, but when I first got him, I opened up a small slit at the very bottom for him to get some sunlight. Just because I feel like dying doesn’t mean I should hurt him.

That slit has become the new constant.

One day, I get so bored and overwhelmed by the artificial world outside my four usual walls that I retreat back into my dark room. The only light I’m getting when I wake up is from the slit I opened for my cactus. I get desperate and start talking to him again.

“It’s really hard for me to open up about my feelings,” I say with a sad chuckle, looking at my little plant. “And to be honest, I feel kind of stupid talking to you about it.”

Suddenly, he answers, tries to make me feel better. I can’t believe it. Maybe I’m dreaming. I reach out and touch one of his spikes.

“Ouch!” we both yell in unison.

I look at him, confused. He doesn’t have a face, a mouth, or ears. How could he possibly hear, understand, or answer me? Maybe I’m still drunk from the party I went to last night, I think, and decide it would be best to go back to bed before I go crazy.

Well, even crazier, considering I’m hallucinating a conversation with my pet cactus.

Just in case, I wish him a good night.

“How are you ever going to solve your problems if you just lay in bed all day?” he mocks, and I sit up, dumbfounded. After still not seeing anything unusual about the little cactus on my windowsill, I choose to ignore it and lie back down.

“Fine,” he says. “You came home pretty late last night. I’ll give you this one.”

That’s the last thing I hear before falling asleep.

When I wake up, my eyes instinctively go back to the cactus, peacefully sitting on my windowsill exactly where I left him. I wonder whether I just dreamed everything and look down at my finger. Sure enough, I see the little hole, the result of poking myself on his spike. I convince myself it doesn’t have to mean anything and decide to go get food.

After a while, I get back to my room and sit on my bed, facing the cactus. I try working up the courage to say something, but I feel like I’m going insane.

“Why are you staring?” he asks.

My mouth gapes open. “Are you really talking to me?” I ask, not believing what could possibly be happening.

“Do you see anyone else in here?” he replies in a snarky tone.

I rub my forehead in pure confusion. “Since when-” I start, but he cuts me off.

He explains that he’s been hearing me since day one. He admired that I cared for him in the beginning, but also felt a little hurt that I stopped.

“But mostly,” he says, “I feel sad for you.”

He wants to help me get better. Wants to force me into bettering my life.

Month after month, the slit in my drapes got bigger, until eventually, they opened completely. He became an actual best friend, and I’m eternally grateful for the care no one else could provide.

Here I was, thinking a plant couldn’t fix my life, until Ezekiel came along.