jesus christ, this has to have an end that’s hopefully a beginning

I feel like I have a bunch of books in me, but they're knotted up by these terrible things I tell about myself every day. I am not nice, see, because at this point I am swallowed by my own pain. I have nothing nice to say about myself most days, and I really probably need to get the fuck out of it. How I would attain such a thing is not an easy task but I do hope I can figure it out. I have to take myself on as a project, as that's the only thing that will change my direction, which is aimless and lonely most of the time.

The pain is from a few things but my lack of movement is not ideal either. I have to find a new meditation and start practicing some good mantras so I can start experiencing better shit. The only great thing to happen right now would be a lottery win or hope for a job offer to leave this disaster of a country for at least 10 years, let's say. 15 max. By 60 I'd be swiss cheese in the head and possibly ornery. I'm halfway there right ...