I think I get it know, why it was impossible to try to come to a stance on myself. 
I thought I had to hate myself, if not I would just be a monster through and through.
But I am a monster.

Monsters don't change when damned nor when even turned into a pet. It just is. Regardless of what has changed in it's predicament.

I only realized I was fine with myself being a monster, after accepting nothing can change my past actions.
I'm pretty sure being a monster made everything easier. Knowing that, what was going on in daily life, could never compare to my own darkness.
Though just thinking about my past makes me more devoid of emotion.

I was a burden to my father.
I destroyed my mother's household.
I did irreparable damage to my sister's childhood.
I only buried myself further in a reprehensible way of life.
I thought if I had suffered, when I just caused the suffering.

There isn't another way to look at it.
Not when no one else seems to remember the details.

Is this the responsibility my mother was talking about since I was five, no maybe four.
Now that I'm almost nineteen, can that responsibility change anything now?
Every feeling I've had up until this point, is gone.
I'm just left with the thought I should kill myself.

There just isn't any point of seeing a vision, that no one else can understand or agree with.

I can only ever see them as a family, whenever they are together with each other. But when I'm apart of it, it is more like a stained collective.
I doubt those stains can fix where blood and bonds are completely devoid.

But it doesn't mean anything when they're dead.
They just become bygones.
If your dead, your dead.
Existence over. I don't know?

I think that is why I was happier interacting with an actual deviant over my immediate family.
Not even one singular conversation, and I was still happier. For the first time it didn't feel like there was a gun pointed at my head. I think I felt a feeling close to freedom.

That happiness only lasting a short duration each time, still eroded everything else from my mind. That is probably why I was truly addicted. He didn't even have to teach me how to fish, I'd already become a fiend scourging for more and more. It's cause I'm hallow. There is nothing inside me, except a shell waiting for death. My sense of love and hate dulled, as those words lose meaning after being drenched in my abyss.

I feel the differences between my family and myself were to vast, and complications way to straightforward.

I'm just simply the thing worse than scum, and being what some consider a devil is a lonely path. All that those around you can see, is the vision they are presented. 
Words can't change anything.

The only action that could mean anything to them, is to leave. Yet justifiably, it is the very action they wished for the whole time, and they still act as if it was the last thing on their minds.

At least being mentally homeless for half a decade only began close to the time I felt free.