You ask why I do the, as you put it, “horrible things” I do. Well, the truth is I don't see them as horrible things. I see them as valuable contributions to our society. I know, it sounds like I'm making up some sort of Freudian or Jungian or Oedipal or whatever the latest 'blame everyone but myself for my fucked up head' excuse is, right?
Well, I'm not. Truth is, I had a really good home life. Got on great with both my mom and dad, had the usual amount of sibling rivalry with my sister. Nothing worth putting in Shrinks Monthly, and growing up on a farm taught me the value of hard work and of doing my best, no matter what. So you can't blame my parents for me turning out the way I did.
Hell, you can't really blame the kid shrinks either. Oh, they tried to make me “normal”, but...well, it's like a tree that starts off warped and never really gets a chance to grow straight again. No amount of pruning or cultivating will make the tree stand tall. I never really had a chance. Mom and Dad, God rest their souls, didn't know. They passed it off as typical boy behavior, even after they found what I did to the cats.
Though sometimes I wonder if they did know and just didn't care because the cats were strays that would bite and scratch at you if you got too close. They had no value, didn't even go after the rats that lived in the barn. Dad even took a sack of kittens down to the river once. That was farm life at times, harsh and brutal. We had to decide which lives had value and which ones didn't.
It's why I did the things I did. I went after people that didn't matter, that had no family or place in the world. By putting them on display, I gave them a fleeting moment of fame. I made them matter, if only for a brief, shining moment. They may have had no value in life, but now they have it in death.