Lost in Therapy Translation

Music used to be my therapy, my escape route.  I could get lost for hours in the twiddles of my flute or the tinkers on my piano.  But now, there is no music in my house, or in my life.  That leaves a sense of loneliness that is difficult to describe -- only one that other musicians know. 
Writing was my next form of therapy.  I used to write poem after poem about anything and everything.  I don't even have my poems anymore.  I left those at my old house when I got divorced.  I did have one published once, though.  I still have the book.
Then, I started to blog, thinking it might take me somewhere and give me a consistent means of expression.  I love blogging, but I struggle to find my communicative purpose.  I have millions of thoughts every day, and think, "Man, I'd like to write about that," but the second I sit down to write, I blank.  Well, I don't really blank out...I think it's more of me having so much so say but not knowing where to start. 
My background in English knows that good readers make good writers.  I have EVERY intention of reading more; my heart is in the right place, but I never seem to find the right time. 
There was a period of time when going to the gym was my therapy.  That didn't last long.  I lack the determination because when it comes to exercise, mediocre is good enough for me.  
After that phase, furniture was my therapy. Let me tell you something -- I LOVE restoring and upcycling furniture.  Seriously, it is a huge passion of mine.  I'm just limited in time and resources, so I just can't do it as much as I really want to.
Cooking was my therapy in between all of that other stuff. 
Now, interestingly enough, working is my therapy.  This is not how I imagined my life. I never stop.  Ever.  I don't have any sense of work/life balance, no matter how hard I try.  I want to work to live, not live to work.
How do I regain my balance?  I feel so lost.