A lost self. Where is she?

A part of myself has been lost
Through these years of illness
Reading, writing, drawing...
These are the things that I loved to do, that were purely mine.
I miss a time
...when books consumed me,
...when I wrote because the words came gushing out,
...when I drew for the simple pleasure of it.

Where the words went, where she went I do not know.
Where to find her I do not know.

How to just be with myself I can no longer remember.
This is just another thing that illness has taken from me.
Except...
It's not just another thing.
It is my very essence of being.

Alone time during my illness was a guilty pleasure.
Although it hurt so, it was my time to hurt freely.
To be in pain, and to cause my self pain.
Me able to be purely me...
Except it wasn't purely me. It was illness.
And alone time is now tainted by it.

Always waiting in the shadows,
For the opportunity
Of alone time
To pounce and consume once more.

So purely me has been lost
Behind veils of illness and pain
I feel my being rotting without the essence of self...

How can I get her back without letting pain back in?
Without letting pain take control once more?
I don't know how to find her again.