Time is such a strange concept. I'd like more of it, honestly. I'm twelve years old and I already feel like my life is dripping away.
Once you're older, you become less important to the world.
You could be amazing at drawing, but once you're an adult, you're just another person with a pencil in their hand. People stop caring about you. It's not amazing anymore, even if you've had that aptitude since you were young.
I really am running out of time. I have too many things to do, never enough time to do it. I need to finish all these books. I need to make a video game about a girl with no mouth, who goes on an imaginary adventure in her own world when she's put into a coma. I need to study humans. I need to start a revolution of children's rights and equality. I need to get a job. I need to finish school.
Too many things. Not enough time. You get it.
I'm twelve years old, so most of the things I listed are impossible for my age. But that's the whole point. I need to prove that I, twelve year old girl with more mental disorders than you can fit on a sheet of paper, can live a semifunctional life with at least three jobs. I have a lot to do.
I want time to stop, just for a thousand days, just for me.
I need a break. One thousand days off where I can finish these tedious tasks and not worry about going to school, or having friends. I need one thousand days in complete solitude where I can do what I want without having to live the life of a schizophrenic twelve year old.
Which brings me back to my original aspiration to be put in a little white box.
I have a feeling that this aspiration will be frequently mentioned throughout this book.
I suppose I chose the title wisely then?
