Most of my life, I have been plagued by the feeling of being alone. Not necessarily loneliness, but not fully being understood or accepted. Maybe it was because my voice was soft and, often, went unheard. Maybe it was the cruel words of some of my peers, who thought I was odd, quiet and negligible. Maybe it was all that time I spent growing up, by myself, in my room, with my books and my journals.
Maybe it was me.
As a child, I wrote to unload the heavy weight of emotions I could not comprehend. As an adult, I write for the same reasons. But, this time I chose to share.
I created Nina Bell so she could write the words I could not say. I knew I would never fit under the Bell Curve of normalcy. Thus, I created my own. Nina, whose bell, I always had a spot to sit under and, whose words, never made me feel alone.