Alejandra Paxcle

In a field of flowers there is always one that stands out more than the rest. I once picked the most beautiful rose I have ever seen. Even though I saw those sharp thorns I was able to overlook them simply because of its beauty. I knew I would eventually get pricked and that thorn would likely never be removed. I knew it would pierce my heart but still I persisted. As I clenched the rose tighter, I began to bleed. It still didn’t matter because I loved the way the rose looked. I loved the way it made me feel, I loved how I was able to admire this beautiful creation that I could nurture and allow to fully bloom. I never thought that something so beautiful could hurt so much and cause immense pain. Every time I see my scars I will always remember the time I spent admiring the beauty of the rose without regard for the consequences.

Two shoes make a pair... together they make a half whole. Without the pair they’re practically useless. I was born one half of a pair. I found the other shoe to make me whole. This shoe was perfect, the laces were the perfect length and they had no scuffs. I wished I could be that perfect, I was always scuffing myself and being that shoe that pinched your toe just a bit too much. I longed to be that other shoe, or at the very least... to keep the pair together. But no matter how hard I try to look for the other pair it seemed like it didn't want to be found. I wanted us to be a pair so badly, all I keep hearing is my mom saying “don’t worry mija, todo estará bien.”

 It was almost effortless, the false hope and broken promises. Oh, how easy it was for you to silently fall in love. As the moments passed, you fell in and out of love so quickly, it was seemingly meaningless. The world continued to spin, it didn’t stop and wait for me. It didn’t wait for me to pick up the broken pieces. It just kept going... forgetting that I too, fell in love, leaving me broken hearted and out of love.

Hi, my name is Alejandra and I love to please people. I love it so much that it causes me to forget that I too need to be pleased. I get so caught up in pleasing others, I become a doormat. A doormat for your vent sessions, for your rants, for your life problems, all the while you never ask about mine. I remain a support system for others while my own voice and troubles are silenced. I’ll let it continue and flash my signature smile, and let those footprints settle in and mark their place. I never want to be that confrontational person, I never want you to feel as if I’m not here for you. I am your support system, I am your comforter, but are you mine? You keep coming back for more because I’m your person... until I’m not.  I let the malignant pleasing take over until I explode and ruin everything.

I used to hate drinking. I hated what it turned people into.  I especially hated how alcohol made personalities change... angry drunks specifically. Relatability and acceptance to me operated under the same definition. So, I too, began to drink. It allowed me to develop bonds with my loved ones that I likely would’ve never had. In hindsight that was probably one of my more regrettable actions, it disallowed them to know the real me and vice versa. The more I was around beer the more I started to enjoy it on my own. Squinty eyes and a huge smile, they acted as my mask, I was an absolute joy to be around. My facade took a turn when I started to drink with problems weighing on my shoulders, which resulted in those problems getting heavier and heavier. I wanted to drown the deafening screams of my internal pain. I became the mean drunk, you know the one. The one nobody wanted to be around. I would want to fight and express myself through anger. All because I didn't know how to commun...

My mom is a gardener. She planted the most beautiful flower I have ever seen. With no experience. Yet, she planted another. With this one it was tricky she didn’t know whether if it would bloom. She had trouble pruning this flower. Did it need help growing? Did it need a different type soil? This flower made gardening a chore. She gave up hope as she placed her shovel in the dirt. This flower that tried to bloom to become just as beautiful as the other, somehow fell a bit short. My mom tried to make this flower bright and gorgeous just as she had her other one. What she didn’t realize is that she had planted a different seed and this flower required different nursing. It needed just a little more love and attention than the last flower. She decided it was time to go back to the drawing board. She longed to know what it would take to make this flower bloom just as beautifully as the other. Although this flower was different she realized that she needed to implement some of the same pr...

Remember your first heart break? Your second? How about your third? You thought your world was going to end... but  it didn’t. Your heart eventually healed, allowing you to love again, despite all the pain that one word had enabled you to feel in the past. When you feel you are incapable of receiving the love you so desire... the love you deserve, that want soon becomes a burden on your heart and your mind. That’s my problem. I am the epitome of a hopeless romantic. No matter how many times my heart gets broken, I always give love another chance hoping the next times the charm. Love makes you feel all these euphoric sensations, it allows desire and vulnerability to appear...it’s a very safe feeling. Love makes you forget about every disappointment, every regret, every second thought. Perfection, beauty, endless unconditional love is what I long for. I live for the day when someone will utter those words to me and allow me to feel again. I just want that someone to tell me how bea...

My poor mom would try to make me wear a skirt or dress uniform but I preferred a pair of Dickies, a white collar shirt and one long ass un-combed ponytail, simplistic style. I was comfortable, but it wasn’t acceptable by most standards. I got teased for everything I did, no matter how hard I tried to be me. I didn’t fit the stereotype of a typical girl. I was into wrestling, collecting sports cards, playing basketball, and every kind of thing a boy my age was into. How did I manage to go to school everyday in the 4th grade dressed like a “boy” knowing I would be ridiculed mercilessly? I remember crying and running away from them while they laughed at me. Amidst all of that I remained true to myself, I continued to dress, behave, and believe just as I wanted.  I never claimed to be perfect but I always claimed to be me. Little Ale believed in herself, she clung to the idea that there is no such thing as normal, she chose to march to the beat of her own drum. So why now, why in adu...

Six...that was the age I realized just how beautiful girls are...I remember playing with this girl’s hair, I was entranced, and of course she didn’t know that I was touching her hair nor did she know of my hidden feelings, my socially unacceptable thoughts. I was so caught up in what I was doing, I lost myself for a moment. I was given a harsh snap back into reality when I heard, “Eww look what Alejandra is doing!”.  I immediately freaked out, panicking because I didn’t know what this strange feeling was that was suddenly flooding my mind, encompassing my thoughts. I knew it wasn’t okay because all the kids in my class would tease me. I carry those words of rejection with me, I still have a hard time accepting these feelings. These feelings of being in love with a girl.

Baby hair. Every girl has a different definition of baby hair. I remember reading magazines and looking at the beautiful models with no baby hair. I remember staring at myself in the bathroom mirror figuring out ways to get rid of them. From bleaching, waxing strips, Nair, and shaving them off. The maintenance was killing me, so I finally gave up. Fast forward to 2017, I looked for ways to improve myself and focused in on my baby hairs again....failing to realize my problem was internal. I found 12 year old Alejandra staring back at me in the mirror. I hastily grabbed my tweezers and plucked away. I plucked and plucked trying to pacify 12 year old Alejandra who wasn’t good enough. All I wanted was for my 12 year old self to disappear and the only way to silence her voice and judgmental stare was to make myself look like the person she wanted me to be. The more I plucked my hairs the quieter and more satisfied she became. I finally found my will to stop plucking and accept myself as I...

I want to start by asking you to forgive me. Forgive me for all those sleepless nights. Forgive me for all those one night stands. Forgive me for opening you up just to receive another heart break. I am truly sorry. So today, I make a vow, a vow to myself, a vow to you. I will protect you from having to endure the pain that I once put you through.

I was never surrounded by powerful women growing up. Always hiding and running away from my problems. I don't know where to start?

Why is it hard to love yourself? Why do we need validation from others? Today I am going to start by loving myself a little bit more and the next day and the next day and the next day...