19:I[57746,["/_next/static/chunks/bce3145d91fff1e7.js","/_next/static/chunks/886d86abc0ed7c44.js","/_next/static/chunks/ebb2f754ee7f66cd.js","/_next/static/chunks/e38fae1733eb6e6f.js","/_next/static/chunks/d404b33fe4cc24aa.js","/_next/static/chunks/6856aedf0793bae7.js","/_next/static/chunks/9152bc2b0076b174.js","/_next/static/chunks/c76bc11d03ac9728.js"],"TagPageClient"] 1a:T499,People always want an explanation when I say I like being alone.

As if it has to mean something else.

As if there’s a flaw hiding underneath it ….social anxiety, avoidance, something unnamed I haven’t admitted yet.

But I’m most alive when I’m by myself.

I like sitting in stillness, watching my life play out quietly in front of me. Following impulses without interruption. Sorting playlists. Falling into articles. Letting my mind wander without anyone cutting into it.

When I’m alone, nothing competes for my attention. And I like that.

It’s a double-edged thing. I know that. I reach my highest highs there. And eventually, my lowest lows too. Without noise, the emptiness has more space to echo.

But in the beginning …..the honeymoon stage I love the lack of life around me. I love that it’s just mine. The stillness. The control. The quiet fullness of it.

I’m not hiding from anyone.

I’m just inside myself.

1b:T487,People always want an explanation when I say I like being alone.