What drives people to kill - part 2: The chilling, the Unthinkable, and the ones who Survive
Dear readers
There's something strange about staring into the abyss and realizing it doesn't blink back.
In Part 1, I explored the emotional and psychological terrain of murder - what drives someone to cross that line, and why we're so drawn to understanding it. But I held back the deeper dive, the cases that don't make sense, the ones that haunt you long after the article ends. The philosophical questions that don't have answers, and the aftermath - the quiet, aching ripple that violence leaves behind.
This is Part 2, and it's not just about killers, it's about us.
Why do people kill?
It's the question that sits at the center of everything: Why? Why do people kill? What drives someone to take a life? The answers are layered, messy, and sometimes contradictory. But here's what we know.
Some kill out of desperation - poverty, fear, survival.
Some kill out of rage - betrayal, jealousy, humiliation.
Some kill out of trauma - abuse, neglect, abandonment.
Some kill out of ideology - revenge, righteousness, warped belief.
And some kill out of emptiness - because they feel nothing and want to feel something.
There are psychological frameworks: antisocial personality disorder, narcissism, psychopathy. There are environmental factors: unstable homes, violent communities, systematic failures. There are emotional triggers: grief, shame, rejection.
But none of these are universal. And none of them excuse the act. What they do is offer context, they help us trace the path - not just justify it. Because murder is rarely spontaneous. Even when it looks impulsive, there's usually a buildup. A fracture. A moment where something shifted. And that moment - whether it's a slow erosion or a sudden snap - is what I keep coming back to... What breaks a person? What numbs them enough to cross that line? What makes someone believe that ending a life is the solution?
Sometimes it's pain, or power. Sometimes it's the absence of both. And sometimes, it's just because they can.
The killers who defy logic
Some killers make sense - at least on paper. Childhood trauma, mental illness, desperation. We trace the path from pain to violence and call it understanding. But then there are the ones who don't fit any pattern. The ones who kill without motive, without remorse, without resembling humanity.
People like Israel Keyes... He buried "kill kits" across the U.S. - shovels, guns, zip ties, cash - just waiting for the right moment to use them. He chose his victims randomly. No emotional connection, no personal vendetta, just control and power. Just the cold satisfaction of play God.
That kind of case makes my skin crawl, because it strips away the comfort of explanation. There's no narrative arc to follow. No wound to empathize with. No system failure to blame. Just a person who looked at the world and decided to take life from it - because he could.
And here's the uncomfortable truth: Some people kill because they want to, they enjoy it, and because the absence of empathy isn't a symptom, it's their nature. It's one thing to understand desperation, to trace the path from trauma to tragedy. But this - this is something else. This is the void, the absence of motive, and the rejection of meaning. And it forces a reckoning. It forces you to ask: What does it mean to be human, if someone can choose to destroy without reason? What does it mean to feel when others feel nothing at all? What does it mean to believe in goodness, when some people are drawn to the opposite?
I've sat with these questions longer than I expected. I've stared into the blank spaces where motive should be and tried to fill them with something - anything - that would make sense. But sometimes, there is no sense. Sometimes, the horror is the point. And that's where the real ache lives, not in the act itself, but in the silence that follows. In the realization that some people are not broken - they are empty. And that emptiness is not something you can fix, understand or soften.
It's tempting to turn away and say, "They're monsters." To dehumanize what we cannot comprehend. But that's too easy. And it's dangerous, because we stop seeing them as human, we stop seeing the warning signs. We stop holding society accountable for the conditions that allow this kind of emptiness to thrive.
The philosophical weight of murder
It forces us to ask: Is evil innate or learned? Is morality a social construct or biological instinct? Can someone be fully sane and still choose to kill?
And here's where things get messy. Because for every theory, there's a case that breaks it. For every psychological framework, there's a killer who slips through the cracks. And for every moral argument, there's a survivor who says, "None of this helps me sleep."
We want murder to make sense because we want the world to make sense. We want to believe that if we follow the rules, stay kind, stay safe, we'll be spared. But murder laughs at that logic. It reminds us that chaos exists. That cruelty isn't always provoked, and that safety is sometimes just an illusion. And that's terrifying.
It's also why we keep asking why. Not because we expect an answer, but because the act of asking is how we reclaim control. It's how we say, "I refuse to accept this as normal."
The emotional aftermath: What violence leaves behind
One thing I haven't talked about yet is the aftermath. The families, survivors and the ripple effect. Because murder doesn't end with the act - it echoes. It reshapes lives, and it creates anniversaries no one wants to remember. It turns ordinary dates into memorials. It turns homes into haunted spaces, and it turns silence into scream that never stops.
We focus so much on the killer - on motive, pathology, and psychology. But the real story lives in the people left behind. The ones who wake up every day with a hole that can't be filled. The ones who carry the weight of a name that was taken from them. The ones who have to explain to children why someone is missing and won't be coming back.
I read about the mother of one of Dahmer's victims who said, "I don't want justice, I want my son back." And that broke me, because justice is never enough, closure is a myth, and grief doesn't follow logic. It doesn't follow time, and it doesn't follow rules.
I think that's why I'm so drawn to this topic. Not because I want to understand killers - but because I want to understand the people they leave behind. The ones who carry the weight, rebuild and choose love in the face of horror.
Because surviving violence isn't just about healing. It's about remembering, reclaiming, and choosing in a world that tried to harden you. And that choice - that quiet, defiant choice - is what makes survivors sacred. They are the ones that somehow, despite everything, still believe in love, and still believe in tomorrow. They still believe that even in the shadow of cruelty, humanity can rise again.
Humor, because we need it
Okay, let's take a breath.
If you've made it this far, you deserve a moment of levity - or at least a chuckle that says, "I've emotionally unraveled, but I'm still stylish about it." So, here's a little something to lighten the existential dread:
Why don't emotionally detached killers ever join book clubs?
Because they hate character development.
(Yes, I groaned too. But groaning is healing. It's the body's way of saying, "I'm still here, and I refuse to laugh at this - but I kind of did.")
What comes next
This isn't the end of the journey - Part 3 will shift the lens inward. Away from the killers, and toward the ones who as why. The ones who write, reflect, and feel. The ones who carry curiosity like a compass.
It will be less about pathology and more about perspective. Less about crime scenes and more about emotional landscapes. I'll explore what this journey has taught me - not just about violence, but about empathy, boundaries, and the quiet strength of staying emotionally awake in a world that rewards numbness. I'll ask what it means to feel deeply in a culture that scrolls past pain. What it means to carry softness - not as fragility, but as rebellion.
Because the most haunting question isn't why do people kill?
It's how do we keep living with open hearts in a world that doesn't pause for pain?
Part 3 will be for the feelers, seekers, and the ones who survive by choosing love - even when the world makes it hard.
So, even when the world stops making sense, your heart still does - and that's where healing begins.
DarkBloomDiaries signing out until tomorrow...
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