What am I?

If I cannot control my emotions, what am I? What am I, but driftwood in an incomprehensibly vast ocean, ceaselessly tossed by the waves and dragged by the currents? What am I, but a ravenous predator in a desperate pursuit of a meal? Or am I the prey of such a beast, merely awaiting an inevitable fate? 

But if I cannot experience my emotions, what am I? What am I, but a faceless and featureless entity, a cog in an incomprehensibly complex machine, an actor in a plotless play?