You are a social being.
You have known this for a long time now. You are most comfortable, most at peace, when you are in a situation that is constantly distracting you, with different people or groups of people around you to bounce between. You are most alive here. This is where your flourish.
But it's more than that, too.
You're good here because you have to be. Because you know that when the people are gone, when the noise has faded and the silence comes creeping in, when you are alone, then you are weak.
Then you are vulnerable, and your only company is yourself.
You cannot, should not be alone with yourself. You will start to unpack the things that you are, the amalgamation of the parts of other people you've stolen. You will start picking the loose strands of the patchwork quilt of your person and it will unravel.
You know, dimly, that you are nothing but a facade. You are the scraps of a dozen hurried dinners. You are the product of other people's by-products. The sum of your parts does not equal a whole.
That is why you must surround yourself with people. They block out the shadows that loom on the horizon of your mental landscape. They are the levees against the tumult that gathers on the shore of your mind. The crowd is your sword and shield against an intangible, unfightable opponent.
You are ill equipped to be alone.
Your social successes fill you with a bravado that will allow you to brave the first few minutes of solitude with some tenacity. But it quickly fades. When you're alone you are faced with who you might truly be. Not who you want to be, not who you fashion yourself to be, but the person, or half-person, that is the realest part of you.
So you surround yourself in people. And you hope to be asleep before the last person is gone.