I'm a Creating Destroyer

I love to create......I also love to destroy. Contradictory, I know. Therefore, I deem myself a "creating destroyer." Almost as soon as I create something, I want to destroy it. It doesn't really matter what I created; whether it was a painting, a photograph, a collage, a song, a word blurb, etc. I want to rid the world of seeing it. I want to rid myself of seeing it. But the memory of it in my head I can never seem to destroy. It all starts with an idea. I want to create that idea. I want to see it in real life. I want to touch it, I want to feel it.......then I inevitably, it seems, I want to destroy it. But destroying it wasn't my initial plan. I get around to creating that idea, that intangible being. I see it, take a step back, examine my work, and most often hate it. I despise what I create. Then why create it in the first place? I cannot answer that question. I, in my ignorance, do not know. Does that mean I don't know my own self? If I don't know my methods and reasons behind my madness, can I really know myself? What if I have no methods or reasons to my madness? Does that make me just mad? (Side note: I often write to solidify my vortex of thoughts and answer many of life's questions. But with this, it seems I am asking more questions than I can answer. Craziness....Madness. I am just mad, aren't I?) Some things I have destroyed. I have thrown most of my paintings away. I have thrown away and deleted some of my writings. I have wanted to burn some of my collages(including the one I am working now. That's right: I'm not even finished with it and I already want to destroy it! Utter madness, I tell you). The hardest thing I find to destroy is my photographs. I will always keep the memory of them. I cannot forget the moment in which I "snapped" that picture and entered into an unknown world, my curiosity following close behind me. I simply cannot forget. I try everything to rid myself of the memory of certain photographs; but, I can never turn my music up loud enough. I can never drive fast enough. I can never drive far enough. I can never write enough. I can never play the piano loud enough. I can do nothing to rid the memory. It stays with me. I can destroy the physical evidence, but never the mental picture. Because that's where it all started. It started in my head as an idea. I am the one that threw myself into the situation willingly. I entered the new, unknown world. There is no going back now. But, perhaps, maybe it is that my photographs are not meant to be forgotten? I seem to often photograph "forgotten" people if you will. If I forget them, then who else is there to know them, remember them? ....No one. Absolutely no one. Is this my calling? To remember the forgotten? Should I keep the physical evidence(as opposed to destroying it) for posterity? It is hard to break a habit. My habit: destroying my creation(good thing I'm not God)........Those "continuation" dots(periods) are a symbol of my fighting, warring really, against myself. I long to destroy those photographs and the memory that lies within. But I cannot. But I must. But I cannot. But I must. But, alas, I cannot. I am fighting my calling. I know that since I am fighting it, it must be the calling for me. I must answer. Yes, I must not destroy my creations, or at least some of them(that's where discretion comes in). Yes, I must the remember the forgotten. This is my calling..for now: remembering the forgotten. The forgotten have no one else but me. I must remember the forgotten....