Why do we intentionally scare ourselves?
We know that when we get into something, it frightens the shit out of us. It drives us to scream in excitement and terror. We know we’re scared, but we do it anyway.
Somehow, there’s a weird fascination to intentionally scaring the shit out of our system. There will be blood. There will be gore. There’s a risk of losing a part of your sanity and safety. But we do it anyway.
Maybe because there’s the bragging rights of knowing you went through something people would acknowledge as scary. There’s a metaphorical badge of pride and honor to say “Yeah, I’ve been through that” and, somehow, it makes the screams of terror worthwhile.
I could watch Texas Chainsaw Massacre and ride a rollercoaster a hundred times, and I’d always end up screaming without fail. Of course, I’m terrified. But I’d definitely do it again…and again.
We feed our fears for a temporary thrill of excitement and it makes us feel brave and bold. It makes us feel like we could do anything. Because if I managed to face my fears, then what else is left to fear?