After waking up, I remained for a long time without knowing what to think, what to do, or even what to hold on to.
There was no direction anymore, no clear anger, no longer that burning energy that usually drove me to reject the world or reject myself.
I was emptied, but not relieved.
I was there, simply there, in a troubled in-between where even self-hatred seemed to have deserted, as if it had understood before me that it no longer served any purpose.
I didn't even have the strength to hate myself anymore.
All I wanted was to understand.
To have answers.
Not excuses, not justifications, just a thread, an explanation, something to which I could cling this pain I carried without knowing exactly where it came from.
Why had I become a monster, or why did I still see myself as one?
Why did that word, "weak," scare me so much that I preferred to destroy everything rather than accept it?
