Panexuality : The Causes And Effects Of Pansexuality

Coming to eighth grade on the first day was slightly scary for me. I was afraid that I wouldn’t have any friends on the same team as me and that I wouldn’t have a class with any friends. When I arrived to the homeroom, school didn’t start off as bad as I thought it would. Apparently I had more than one friend in my homeroom, which made things less awkward for the first time being in class.

As a child I suffered tremendously with confusion, self hatred, and misunderstanding about my own sexuality. Growing up queer in a small town is never an easy thing. I went through years of denial, and hid all of my thoughts about what I thought could be. I was so muddled in an all too common train of thought that my first conclusion was that I was incapable of loving another human being. Having never experienced honest crushes or any emotional or physical attraction to the opposite sex, I was very frightened for my ability to one day have a family. This thought put me into a mode of paranoia and panic. I began to search any place I could for any other possibility, hoping for some form of medication or therapy to ail me of what I thought was a mental illness. After only a few minutes at the computer, I realized there was nothing wrong with my mind, or capability to love. I am just gay.

I lived in student home Verona for four years. My houseparents were Mr. and Mrs. Jester, at Milton Hershey School. I played field hockey for my 7th and 8th grade years of middle school. Someone who helped me when I was at MHS middle school was my sister Jada. She told the advice that I needed to hear when I was down or upset because I was on restrictions or developing. When I struggle in school she told me, “Get your grades up Gia or you are going to do bad in school and I do not want that for you. You’re a smart person and I want you to be successful in life.”

In the article, What Do We Say When We Hear ‘Faggot’? by Lenore Gordon, it talks about what teachers can do if students are using derogatory language that suggest that a student might be gay. This article confirms my theory that education is the key when it comes to changing what people think, “name-calling is so common among children, and because it embodies the bigotry learned from adults, it is a good place for educators to begin” (Gordon, 1995, p. 87). This article was written in 1995, but I feel like times are changing and children are learning at a younger age that words like faggot and dyke are not okay things to say. However, that does not mean that it still does not happen. It is our jobs as teachers to education our students and

The fifth grade school year ended very quickly, Mrs.Cullen retired, and my classmates and I moved on to the next chapter of our lifes, sixth grade. As the next school year arrived, I went about sixth grade the same way I had started about fifth grade, I had a ton of friends in my class, and I thought that sixth grade would be a walk in the park. My advisor was Mr.Ferry, and having to write about 1000 times I will not disrupt class, I finally began to approach sixth grade in a different way. In sixth grade I learned the importance of mindfulness, and doing what I loved from

Starting middle school was a mixture of anxiety and excitement. There was a brand new campus to explore, but we were also nervously anticipating the academic program that was about to begin. Most of my grade had been together since the age of four and by this time there were clear social divides. There were the girls who were seen as popular, and then there was everybody else. You could say that I was part of the popular crowd, though at the time I didn’t notice myself standing apart from the others. As a group of friends we got on well, we’d hang out, go to the cinema, have sleepovers, all the usual things friends do. Then things gradually started to change.

The worst year of my life was in the seventh grade. It was a time of unforgettable and painful moments which took place throughout the school year. This taught me a significant lesson. The summer before seventh grade, my parents informed me that it would be beneficial to join a sport. When I did not find one that interested me, the color guard was counseled to me; which to be honest, I resented. My mother had a strict policy that once an activity is started it must be continued throughout the entire season; for this reason, I did. My color guard instructor was one of the most bounteous woman I knew. Moreover, she was an admirable and gracious woman who cared deeply about her students. When school started, I was a self-effacing, lonesome girl,

It was all downhill from elementary school. No, my grades didn’t drop and I didn’t become a street rat, but socially, junior high single handedly ruined my social life. But from before I even stepped foot on the premises, I was destined to an awkward, mute, and sidelined three years: seventh grade, eighth grade, and freshman year. My elementary school, Central Road, was made up of two groups of kids, those who would go to Carl Sandburg, and those who would go to Plum Grove; and my tight knit group of friends would be cut in half when it came time for the split. Although there was more than 100 students who would be moving on to one of these schools, I was one of only 20 who would be attending Plum Grove starting in the fall. Of course, my

Living in a small, conservative town in rural Illinois, I knew there would be many people opposed to my decision to simply exist as I would. However, I knew I couldn’t internalize this. My sexuality was like some sort of horror

I loved school when we would learn something because I was good at that and I was able to do that when I felt like I was terrible at everything. Nothing would change from fourth grade to fifth grade I still loved school and really had no friends. In fifth grade the news I wanted so badly wouldn’t turn out the way I wanted. The AVM had shrunk but it wasn't gone and one more dose of the radio static surgery should do the trick. I was also switching schools and school districts, I asked my doctor if we could do it in summer so I wouldn’t miss school. I was beyond scared, I always keep a brave face on because if I don't show fear it doesn't get to me. I couldn't help it, the last time this was done it went bad, I woke up throwing up I had giant marks on my forehead. I didn't want to be made fun of at this new school. I turned out fine I had basically no marks I woke up feeling fine. I started middle school and middle school was honestly the years I felt lost and at the same time I had the friends I so badly wanted. Middle school was tough for me because instead of being able to take an extra class instead of doing

They say we’re too young to be apart of something that matters, of something that’s significant. We can’t possibly have problems that mean anything, or relationships that could last forever. Maybe they’re right, but when you’re in the eighth grade, it’s a little hard to see past all the middle school heartbreak and the people you live to impress. Sometimes we don’t want to admit that there’s more to life than just eighth grade; that there is more to life than the amazing friendships and the school we’ve grown to find serenity in this year. Whatever the reason is, we just don’t want to say goodbye to the memories we’ve made here.

At twelve-years-old, starting Junior High was struggle for me. It wasn’t because anyone was bullying me or because my friends left me and I was surrounded with drama, it was actually personal inflictions. Junior High was stressful, the natural fear of not being accepted at me, a few months before my dear friend Ruby moved from Clovis to San Francisco. It was all just a lot, and in sixth grade I felt a little… betrayed by my long time guy friend. It hurt to know we’d never be friends again, no matter how hard I wanted to start over. That, and just being a normal teenage girl, I was often feeling misunderstood and under deep pressure from my family. It was a very depressing few years and there were even times when I became jealous and hateful and I

Growing up everyone is told that they are unique. “Be yourself,” “use your God-given talent,” and other expressions such as these impress the aforementioned narrative into our minds. Thus, when I was around thirteen years old, I thought my sexuality was just a part of me that only I had. I wanted to share this feature about myself; I wanted to take pride in it and show it off. Coming out to a close few friends showed positive and emotional responses. Riding on this high, I was ready to embrace myself in high school. Yet, my naivety took the best of me as I was going to an all male, religious high school. My sexuality has provided me with experiences that have and will continue to shape my life. These struggles, whether they are internal or external, have provided me with invaluable skills.

The sexual orientation identity development is a theoretical model that conceptualized the resolution of internal conflict related to the formation of individual sexual identity. For sexual minority people, it is commonly known as the coming-out process (Bilodeau & Renn 2005). There have been many different models elaborated to explain such process. All of them share similar stages: awareness, crisis, and acceptance (Loiacano 1989). When individuals become aware of their queer feelings and attraction, they try to block these homosexual feelings by constantly denying and minimizing them. This mechanism of defense leaves negative sequelae in their overall psychosocial well-being (Bilodeau & Renn 2005). Individuals tend to pass by a

The first year, the time to prove myself had arrived. Classes, rooms, teachers, and some students were unfamiliar. Eventually, minutes melted into hours, hours to days, and days to weeks. It didn’t take long before my schedule was routine, something of second nature. Humor and happiness were found in the form of my advisory family, where school was transformed into something more than going through the same motions of day to day activity. By the closing point of sixth grade, I was having a hard time letting go of what I’d adapted to. “What’s wrong?” my dad asked when I was getting into the car after being picked up early on the last day. I explained how distressed I was that my first year of middle school exceeded my expectations, and that it had to come to an end. Although his outlook viewed my reason for sorrow as trivial, I didn’t.