Coming To Terms

For some reason, I'm finding nineteen a difficult and trying age, although perhaps not more so than my 365 days of thirteen, which I'm sure my mother and others would agree was the age of me being a heathen in my own sense. Not rebellious, just very withdrawn, moody, a loner.
Which brings me to being nineteen: Nineteen is just trying and tedious...At times, I have the maturity some lack in their thirties, and at other times, I find myself looking back at past actions saying, "That was something a fifteen year old would feel/do/say." At nineteen, I'm finding it difficult to be myself for several reasons:
Firstly, my friends: Don't get me wrong, I love my friends dearly from home. We've grown up together, laughed, cried, had our times...but when I really think about it, during my times of desperation (which have been few and far between seeing as I'm only approaching twenty), I don't go to them. I leave my arms wide open for them, waiting for the time when they need me the most, and yet I don't utilize them when society dictates that I should need them the most. It's not that they don't offer; surely, had I gone to them a few months ago when I was going through somewhat of a trial, they would have tried their best. And yet, I was content to sit in my room and contemplate on my own, to work things out. I have found that the friends that I could be myself around, I have lost, unfortunately mainly because these were boyfriends that didn't really work out or people I thought were great friends who I read wrong and trusted too quickly. The friends that I have had for a long time...Can I really call them friends if they know nothing about me? Nothing about what makes me tick? It sounds terrible, but a part of me doesn't trust them even though I've known them for years. Perhaps that is why I don't tell them...I know exactly how they would react if they could hear my inner thoughts and doings. In a nutshell, we would no longer be friends. Are those people friends?
Secondly, I really have no idea who I am. I don't validate myself in anything other than the fact there are things I know I want to accomplish in life. Unlike other people, God and I have never fully clicked, although I'll admit I am not atheist. Agnostic is much more appropriate for my situation. I validate myself in knowing I have good moral conscience, although recently, that's been under fire as well. I validate myself in music, in art, in my passions. But I am not an artist, nor am I a musician, however much I wish I would be. Childish as it may sound, I haven't found what I'm "good at" in life, I feel. And that...that scares the shit out of me. I wish I were a child prodigy on piano at times, or insanely witted with words, or even, as much as it makes me sick to think, able to crunch huge numbers in my head.
This leads me to what makes me extremely disappointed in myself: The fact that I feel I have never truly worked in my life for anything. The irony is that I truly believe that anything in life worth having is worth working for. I worked for my grades...and for what? Yes, I'm going to a very academic school to which I received the highest academic scholarship, but to major in International Business?! (This is a whole other part of a life crisis...Story to be continued at a later date). So...why did I quit piano? Why did I never take art lessons? I find myself envious of the man who can sit and play beautiful melodies on a piano or guitar, who can harmonize...envious of the woman who can paint something beautiful from her head, inspiration strewn across a canvas taught with raw talent. I feel like I don't know who I am because I have none of this; something I want so badly, and yet, am I too lazy to work for it? Do I just expect it to come naturally? Or does my passion lie elsewhere?
Thirdly, I've come to terms with the fact I'm never going to find myself. It's not as if one day I will wake up, look in the mirror, and say "Hello, Lauren Elizabeth Stine...I've been waiting for you to surface." No....never going to happen. I've come to terms with the fact this life is not about finding myself, but more so about making myself into who I want to be.
And, although I may not know what career path I want, or even what type of job, I know who I want to be: I want to be a friend. A damn good one. I want to give without expecting anything in return, which is something I've found to be very difficult recently. I want what I was blessed with, this heart so open it has a revolving door, to stay that way forever, however naive it may be. To love without the fear of being hurt, used, or taken advantage of. Such a difficult goal, and yet, if I can bottle a part of my childlike youth, I choose this: to love without boundaries, to forgive. To love the simple things in life; mugs of coffee, laughter, rainstorms, fireflies, bubbles.
So really, in a nutshell, perhaps it is okay if I haven't been myself recently. I'm still piecing myself together. And really, I probably always will.