The Story of Coming Out (and being closeted)

Note: I'm writing this the way I speak, so I apologize for any grammatical errors.

Before I was out, things were simpler, to say the least. The questions were less, "ooo, who do you like, spill!" And more like, "oo, what are you going to have for dinner, DANG IT, you spilled the tea! Go clean that up!" Or rather, that was before any of us were thinking about being out and more about what we were going to find in our lunchboxes (let me tell you, I often found the strangest things—orange peel, dog food, even the odd piece of string that my cat had clearly ruined). 
Then, of course, my grade got into the social minefield that is fifth grade. And fifth grade seems to be the year where classes find out who's the queen bee (here's a hint--it wasn't me). So there was this one girl, and she was trying to figure out who everyone liked. It was murder. The first time she asked someone, they said, "Dang, I think I really like my cheese puffs" and then promptly fell into a garbage can when she pushed them. No joke. But soon, people caught on. Kids began to couple up, or as couply as you can get when you're ten. I wasn't one of them. I didn't really like anyone in our class—honestly, I didn't want to deal with people at all. In my humble fifth-grade-self opinion, people were a waste of time, as was homework, essays, and lectures on why I should hang out with people, do my homework, and write essays. Of course, the QB (queen bee) didn't know that. So, when she sauntered up to me with that wicked grin on her face, my ten-year-old mind cursed to the best of its ability and made my way out of there as quickly as possible. Seriously, it was like my freakin' pants were on fire. Finally, though, she cornered me, and asked me, "Hey, do you like someone? Who is it?"
Now, the thing about answering that question, especially when you're in fifth grade, is that there's no good answer. See, if you say yes, they'll be all, "OH MAH GAHHHD TELL MEEEE" and you'll be all, "no please" and they'll be all, "YA GOTTA TELL ME" and you'll be all, "goddamn it, I really walked into it this time." Yeah, you get the idea. So you can't say yes. But if you say no, they'll be like, "HEHEHEHEHE you like someone, I know you do, you're LYING!" And that's just honestly a pain. The best answer, honestly, is "why would I do that?" Because that shuts people up real quick. 
Anyway, she just kinda looked at me, with a glare like she was going to shoot lasers out of her eyes if I didn't spill, and I was like, "uhhhh nobody. I don't like people." And by now, you know what she said.
"YOU TOTALLY LIKE SOMEONE! YOU'RE LYING! WHO IS IT?"
And I panicked. Because there was someone I liked, not that I really knew it. It was this very beautiful girl who did ballet and played the piano (I don't like her anymore, by the way; that's ancient history now, much like what we learned about that year)—dumbass fifth grade me thought I just "really wanted to become better friends" with her. I should have realized when I was tempted to say her name in response to the QB's question. But of course, I just couldn't. I mean, liking a girl when you're a girl yourself is weird! is what I was thinking (I have two moms who love each other very much so I don't know what drugs I was taking). So, I freaked out and said, "uhhhhh, it's this boy in our  class..." and I proceeded to tell her his name.
...I didn't actually like him.
But I was trying. I made a valiant effort. Yes, it is I, your heterosexual friend, just heterosexualing it up! Nothing suspicious here! I'm TOTALLY being straight with you!
Looking back on the whole fiasco, I can't believe she actually bought it.
Yeah. Anyway, she teased me mercilessly about this boy I "liked," which was absolute hell. At one point, I was so sick of it that I simply decided to retreat from civilized society altogether and hang out with the boys, who were both nicer and less dramatic. So, I spent the rest of my fifth grade year sad, closeted, and hiding away from the girl I liked and the QB. 
Then sixth grade started. I liked many people that year, because as the famous GIF of Sebastian Stan says, "hormones." I liked a boy and a girl (not at the same time) and even confessed to liking said girl before learning she was straight (and honestly I was grateful for that, because I wasn't ready and am still not ready to date). However, I trusted her to keep my secret. And she did. Which was good.
Then came seventh grade. Trust me, my younger friends—you don't know true hell until you've been through seventh grade. I started getting more and more into poetry thanks to my English teacher, and I was writing several poems a day—none of which were actually any good, but all of which were about the same person, a girl who I was very close with and who I honestly think my English teacher shipped me with. I couldn't get over her. Then, somehow, the QB found out and spread the entire damn thing to the middle school. At least, I think that's what happened, or something like that (I'm a bit foggy on the details)...because suddenly, in the fall of seventh grade, everyone knew. I was pan and proud. It was a moment of rebellion against my uncannily conservative middle school. 
And now, look at me, I'm a happy pansexual who's out of the closet. The moral of this little story? There is none. Except that maybe, to all my closeted friends—let me tell you. I've been there too. And there's always gonna be the annoying heteros who aren't liberal enough to consider that maybe you like someone other than the opposite sex. But you know what? Love who you love. Be the gender you identify with. It doesn't define who you are. Keep writing your poetry and your stories, because being in the closet sucks, and poetry is a wonderful way of ranting about it. And come out, come out wherever you are. The sooner you do, the less you have to field stupid questions about which opposite-sex member you like. You'll still have to field stupid questions, of course, but I'm here for you. 
It is I, your pansexual friend, just pansexualing it up...signing off for now.