overcoming the alone

I question myself a lot. Much self-evaluation, motive-checking, etc. I try to get beneath the roots of my emotions to see why I'm experiencing them.
For example: for the millionth time yesterday, I went into work only to be told, "Wait, uhhhh, you're lesson isn't coming today." And for the millionth time, I repressed all the f-words and fiery retorts I've been choking back for several, several months.
I cried my mother in delirious tears as I drove down the road. I'm sure a lot of people passed me with one of those looks. You know those looks you get when you see someone crying while driving.
Well, my focus is on my need to call my mother. I call her about practical things--recipes, updates, and most of all, to vent.
I held it together for 5 minutes after leaving work, then I went crazy. I was listening to Brooke Fraser--I don't even remember which song--and suddenly, I started weeping. Like a mourning-weeping. I needed someone, you know?
Why do I do that? Because it's human nature. Much of the time, I absolutely do not mind being alone. I love people, but I love alone time, too.
But I'm winding up now. I'm (hopefully) winding up my stay in Kentucky, my undergrad career, both my jobs, and probably and sadly some friendships.
I needed my mother because she did not tell me how silly I was being, but she empathized without too much sympathy, and I like that about my mother.
She is practical when I am emotional.

Around 2-3-4-5-9 weeks ago (who even knows anymore?), my friend Lauren and I went to the altar at church--a rough week. I sat angled behind her and tried to pray--we all know where I stand with praying--and I just stared at her back, hoping that I could finally break this impenetrable prayer facade that I face without success. Then I reached out my hand to rest on her back--a maneuver many Christians do while praying-- and honestly, I'm not sure if it was for me or her. (I hope that doesn't sound creepy, I don't want it to sound creepy.) The thing is: I wanted her to know that I was praying for her, that I was there. But I reached out because I was unprepared to feel such an overwhelming surge of loneliness. I was in a large church at an altar where many people were praying.
And I felt like one unmoving boulder in the middle of a stream. I was around an environment that I have been around so much--the things of church were moving all around me, just as always--steady, constant--yet I couldn't feel things anymore.
I'm obsessed with numbness because half the time I feel that I cry out of pure habit--it's like my system has an alarm that says, "Attention Jamie--you are three months overdue for a good cry. Crying will start in t-minus two minutes."
But GOD-- I mean surely he uses loneliness, too. Essentially, I'm not alone, and I know this. And I don't have that "Oh my gosh I need a boy" mentality--my life needs fewer complications, not more--but sometimes I have that need for a community, I think.
The problem is that I think I have one, but I know that I"m about to move on. Find another one, I guess.
But even when I'm surrounded by a community, even when I'm supported, I'm still very alone.
Maybe it's a strength. Honestly, I can embrace and manipulate the "alone" of my life to write and be productive in those kinds of avenues.
So is the alone to be overcome? I'm not sure I should try to overcome it. I think maybe it's mostly mental, anyway.