Herbivore

In retrospect, I realise I’ve always had a craving for something. The longing for toys I wasn’t allowed to have, the desire for someone who made my heart race endlessly. This relentless feeling controls me frighteningly well. It makes me anxious, sometimes even angry. The strange thing is, the more deeply I fall into something, the more I begin to pull away. I try to return to the state I was in before—when I was untouched by it. I pretend to be cool as a cucumber, or even colder, as though nothing could affect me. But inside, a voice is screaming for help, pleading to let innocent emotion flow freely, to allow myself to be seen.

I have an odd habit that only a few people know about—I laugh when I’m frightened. When I was 28, I went on a rollercoaster—my first, as far as I remember. I can sit through horror films or ghost stories without much trouble, but heights have always been one of my greatest fears. Especially that sudden, plunging drop—something I’ll never attempt again. It felt as though my heart had stayed behind while my body fell, as if only my blood was descending. I couldn’t feel my body as mine anymore. Then, I started laughing—not just smiling, but laughing harder than I ever have. If anyone had seen me, they would’ve thought I was enjoying it.

In contrast, when I’m overwhelmed by strong emotion, I freeze on the outside. I pretend nothing is happening, desperately trying to distance myself from my own desire. I suppose it’s because I fear that if I accept those feelings, I’ll lose control. The monster, once small and harmless, begins to grow and writhe. Possessiveness is given permission to riot, aggressively taking over my thoughts.

So, I try to avoid falling into certain emotional states, because I’ve learned—through experience—that in the end, the only one left behind is me. And that other ‘I’, the one I try to repress, is a brutal monster. Sometimes it takes over—my emotions, my actions—all in pursuit of desire. These endless games always end in pain. Either I grow too tired to hold on, or I simply disappear from it all. A vulnerable herbivore cannot survive among dangerous predators—but perhaps, the hunter is what strengthens the herbivore: building dense muscle, sharpening judgement, honing a clearer gaze.

I only hope I have the strength to accept how desperate I truly am. Time will pass, and perhaps this denial will fade. No one else needs to remember—only me. These feelings, whether nervous or terrifying, build me up through memories. Sweet in their own way. I hope I can become blunt enough to face it all soon. Or, failing that, I hope I’m hurt quickly—just like before.

What a fucking bittersweet night this is.