Torn

I’m frequently frustrated by the medium of the written word.
You see, I have diarrhea of the keyboard.
When put in front of a blank page, I could write on forever. There are at least a dozen different topics at any one point that I would love to write on. It is my catharsis.
However…
To write is also to immortalize your thoughts. Make them permanent. Make them public.
To write is to be found out and to expose your soul and guts in a giant gooey mess. To write is to create a new Truth that will last. To write is to obscure fact with emotion and perception. To write is to complicate every situation with an unending slurry of slights.
I so often write, only to delete whatever file I have created before it can go anywhere. Other times I simply save it in a file. A possible interesting bit I can edit into useful plot or characterization for a book one day. The “One Day” that will have to likely wait till many people are dead or my circle has drastically changed or both.
I sometimes wish I could express my emotions in other forms. Forms that are more abstract. Forms that will say things in a manner for which my pen is a blunt object.
Granted, there are moments where I wouldn’t mind bludgeoning people. There are times that I feel it’s deserved. Unfortunately, so often when you fashion a weapon against others, you only end up hurting yourself.