Self-control (n.) is the wrong target: what needs controlling is not the flow of passion but the ego that exploits it — the controller itself.
Self-control (n.) pushed toward perfection approaches perfect self-frustration — the same vicious circle as the statement "I am lying."
Self-control (n.) is real enough, but pretending it rests on a split of soul and body only prolongs childhood tutelage — a failure to grow up.
Self-control (n.) over emotion is the emotions themselves at play: love is also being in love with love, and sadness is being sorry that one is sad.
Self-control (n.) as a word betrays a split in our being: knower and known, controller and controlled.
Self-control (n.) poses one question that snarls every attempt to answer it: how does the controller control the part that does the controlling?
Self-control (n.) past a certain point becomes paralysis — like trying to throw a ball and steer it with your hand at the same time.
Self-control (n.) of the forcing kind subjects your organism to autocratic government — trying to unify yourself as a tyrant unifies a state.