Venting

So many times i have written about this, and yet it seems i can never write about it enough. A deep scar with a scab that itches every once in a while. I can't help but itch it; it satisfies me for a while and then i can move on with out thinking about it. I don't understand why it comes back unexpectedly; at once consistent and random. I may not think of it for months, and then i may think of it a few times a week. There is no pattern or way around it, except to write it down. It's as if i must keep writing about it until i am fully satisfied with how it turns out; something i don't think i will ever be. There are so many aspects that need to be addressed, and yet, together, may not fit well in a written format. It would be so long, and perhaps unnecessary.I think of others reading it, and what they may get out of it, but maybe that's the wrong way to go about it. No one will have my exact experiences and may not get anything out of it, but its more of an ending for me. A final say about it. Only it can never be a final thing, and that's what bothers me the most. Even if i were to write about it and get it out and for it to be perfect, i would never stop thinking of it, never be done thinking of new ways to present it and show it to others, and to myself. I can never think of a justifiable way of starting it even if i were to write about it completely. Should i write it as a look back, or present tense, or what!