But for the last few months I've struggled to come to terms with why.
Ever infuriated by what I don't know and don't understand, consumed with a fear of being consumed (?!) I couldn't stand it anymore.
I felt this heavy pelting force in my chest most mornings, missing meetings bleary eyed smelling of immitation smirnoff and regret but with a grin so wide on my face that it was almost hard to believe I was battling a half hearted identity crisis and the mother of all hangovers.
I'd had the best night previous with the most glorious breakfast of Sour Creme and Onion Pringles on the tube home having curled up laughing and content in someones bed who washed me of insecurities.
All fine here, right?
In truth, I was slowly dancing myself into a wrap of creative procrastination, writing heart wrenchingly cringe poems on the back of train tickets and waiters notepads about things I probably only felt devestated by because I was exhausted and a bit confused as to where I should be heading next.
Ignorantly flipping my middle finger like a pubescent teenager at growing up I relished in my new found inner care free.
It just so turned out that care actually was worth a lot more than I was insuring it for.
As well as being a general giant teenage cliche, I was putting all of these strained adult pressures on myself that not even my twenties would be able to battle through and I became temporarily paralysed in a fear of letting myself and people around me down.
It's truly wonderful having successful friends but it's also incredibly terrifying particularly when there are so many of them doing such brilliantly impressive things.
Equally, when their lives look so fantastic you just want to punch anyone that says 'just be happy! just take control!' because 'THAT'S BLOODY EASY FOR YOU TO SAY!!!!!!'
What if I'm not doing enough for the world? What if that dress in Topshop sells out? What if I don't become as successful as everyone else? What if that Snickers bar is the final straw between a size 12 and a size 14?
Relatively, it's all menial and quite laughable when put down on paper. Don't worry, I can see it now.
But for the last two months instead of facing real issues I sort of succumbed to these tiny insignificant intangible ones that I knew I couldn't win or change or answer because bizarrely that's a lot easier.
We're left hanging from this empty rafter of insecurity and worry that splinters into a horrible dull sensation of being a bit helpless.
Drowning a plate of bacon and pancakes in thick sticky maple syrup over breakfast the other day I caught sight of a real emotion that hadn't been masked and inebriated.
I was lost.
I did this sad god awful little cry that just thinking about makes me want to punch myself for but I genuinely had no idea who I was.
I made a few weepy phone calls, I ate some more overpriced breakfast and I gave myself two weeks to work it out.
Who am I to me and who am I to other people?
What the hell am I doing with my life?
Had I just been listening to too much Taylor Swift?
I agreed to take a step back from some people and a step closer to the ones I'd pushed away, it's incredibly difficult admitting you're wrong or even behaving recklessly but it gave me a strength and a relief that pride was never going to attain.
I've also written myself a managable list of things I want to achieve in the next two weeks and surprisingly I'm already half way through five days in.
Imagine if we did that EVERY fortnight?
Hello, my name's Charly Cox and I've made a lot of mistakes in the last eight weeks.
Hello, my name's Charly Cox and I've also done a lot of really fantastic things that I often let myself forget.
It's okay to be lost and it's okay to flit and wander through paths that sometimes aren't of best fit or of best interest, as long as you know that sooner rather than later you have to allow yourself to find sight of you again.