Schrödinger’s Box

Often I lay in bed, the boxes of stuff strewn across my room. It's an even bigger box. My life.

Schrödinger's cat is frequently observed. Is the cat alive or dead if we can’t see it?

I spend hours scrutinizing my very own Schrödinger's box. Will I stay in my room surrounded by the boxes of paint, art supplies, and books? Or will I go outside? And if I don’t go outside; if I stay in my room, will anyone truly see me for who I am, or will I be stuck in this box, known and unknown, at the same time?