Monday, December 27, 2010

Dear Holdout Coworker,

Dear Coworker,
I realize you are the lone hold out of my peers at work which refuses to accept my existance. I understand when you refuse to reply to my hellos. I can have empathy with your disrespect of my personal property by throwing it away. I feel the rise in your bile as I sit directly across from you in the break room causing you move to another table. My dear coworker, I am compelled to love you with every ounce of my existance, even when its seems to go to no good. Because sweet friend, oh frightened one of questioning faith and strength, you are I and I am you.


Friday, December 17, 2010

My coming out note from May 2010

I wanted share a note I wrote on a profile I kept of me, presenting as male. I wanted those who I was friends with to be told in a manner in which I controlled the tone.

I sincerely hope this note helps someone else, either in their own transition, or in coming to terms with a friend or family members coming to terms.

Dear Friends,

After years of struggling, therapy, love and support, I am finally being true to myself. I realize this may come as a shock to some of you. To others, you've been with me all the way. I am not changing who I am, just how I present on the outside to match who I truly am inside.(1 Samuel 16:7).

Every moment we shared was real. Every laugh, every tear, every heartbreak and every joy served to bind our lives together. Each and everyone of you has been an instrumental part of my growth, my life and my sobriety. I only hope we will continue to grow from here.

I am closing this profile down and redirecting all of my friends to my true and active profile at

I will not try to send you a friends request. I will allow you to make that decision on your own. I only have the deepest love and respect for each and everyone of you.

God Bless you on your journeys,

Jenna Elizabeth Fischetti

Monday, November 22, 2010

I wasn't the only one with a "Coming Out" story in my family

In May of this year, I removed any pretenses of my own making, which served to deflect the attentions of anyone, including my family, to who I truly am.

The reactions were mixed as expected. Six months later I can see perspectives held by friends and family members for what they are, their own opinions of who I am and what they believe to be truth in the World. I can allow them to live in their beliefs with the comfort that many only want happiness and eternal life for me, as they understand it.

In this process I have received numerous words of comfort from friends and old acquaintances. Many professing offers of support whenever they may be needed by me. This outpouring is even from friends of friends or barely known coworkers at previous jobs. Yet the greatest support I have received to date is with someone else sharing their own Coming Out process.

After a half of a year into this, I was left comforted by the reactions of my immediate family, whether it was positive or negative. For the positive was unexpected, and the negative less than feared. However, the conversation I had with my father last Monday, was to set me free.

We, at some point in our discussion, entered upon the topic of how my "process" was going, how my level of acceptance from others was impacting me. Fairly enlightened subject from a man I feared my entire life. I proceeded to explain that ultimately, the level of comfort was of my determination, and that it was my acceptance of others that would see me through. What followed surprised me.

My father is Head of the Parish Council at the local Catholic Church. He chooses to attend daily services. He has a political viewpoint which runs to the Conservative side of the spectrum. He has told off colored jokes in the past. But this night, we strolled in the realm of spirituality and I was enlighten.

Our discussion from six months back had my father relating my parents thoughts at that time, that I might be gay, but that when I started dating, they felt I was just going through a phase(referencing my crossdressing behavior as a preteen). That, presently, it would be easier for him to understand me if I was before him explaining that in fact I was gay. For he had a context, an understanding of what homosexuality is. Yet, transgender was more difficult. He also shared that,he would need to understand transgenderism better and the only context he had was a mutual friend of his skiing buddy from our very same hometown who transitioned 20+ years ago. So in seeking truth, he asked me how my process was going. As I explained the details I could see a different reaction on my fathers face, for I was speaking not technically, but from my heart. I spoke in terms of spirituality and not of physicality. He then offered me this. " I can only relate to you from my own Coming Out process, and have grown to understand the word Empathy.

My parents were Carter Democrats, blue collar Baltimorians at heart. Raised Roman Catholic, they had a profound spiritual conversion in the late 70's. They became born-again Christians. My father was to relate to me his experience in coming out for Christ in a world which looked askance upon such beliefs. I too, as their child displayed my disapproval at their following. My father named his newly formed company Christian Real Estate. Lost friends and business associates all because he was being true to himself. His process, as he relates today has given him empathy. He can seek to understand what the Christian Scientist believes or of what the mindset of Socialist political opinions may hold. That true Christianity offered us humility through our differences and tolerance for our shortcomings.

I hear, read and see much in the way of attacks upon others, simply because we do not like their view or our perceived lifestyles. And these from the community of diversity towards those without such open mindedness. I, as a professed child of God, am ill equipped for such thoughts. For that, I am grateful.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Wow, 5 years later and still powerless

In wishing to follow the suggestions from someone I hope to grow spiritually from, I'm writing. I'm writing on how I'm still powerless. Yet before I can talk about that, it's best to describe how I lacked the proportion of the ability to think straight and to utilize my human resources to solve my problems.

I learned some hard facts about what little power I did possess and what means to affect changes lay outside my realm as early as the age of 7. For in that year I was to die twice but not for a power greater than me.

During the summer before my family moved to West Laurel, my parents were friends with a family in that neighborhood whom had an in-ground pool. While swimming that beautiful summer afternoon, their child tipped over the pool raft I was clinging to and sent me to the bottom, 8 feet down. At 7, I was unable to swim and being a shy tyke, nobody notices you missing right away. I will say that the image depicted in a movie where the sound is muffled and the field of view is slightly distorted from the motion of the water is spot on. Even better is the sight and sound of cavitating water. Very clich├ęd, yet accurate. In my case it was produce by my father diving into the deep end to pull me out ( a pattern since repeated on more than one occasion ) I never learned to swim until I was 15 and to this day still carry a fear of deep water.

A few months later my family moved into the home I was to grow up in. Only a few years old at the time, the fresh basement was still unfinished. My father, an avid and accomplished pool player had his table moved in, however it was not set up yet. The movers had laid it on its side, pitched on the bevel of its top, leaning on the cast iron drain pipe and the iron pole supporting the I-beam. Seemed sturdy but was not Big Wheel proof. My younger brother decided to repeated bang his ride into the back of the unsprung trap until it snared its prey. SNAP. I heard a creak then felt the table violent snap towards me, frozen by fear, something moved me back a foot or two, then darkness. I awoken to the greatest amount of pain my body has ever recorded. A mark yet unsurpassed. The table came to rest on my chest, breaking my arm in the process. I have not recollection of how long I lay there, or how I got out. I just remember that throbbing so intense, I wanted to die.

In neither case was I able to control the events which were about to unfold, nor effect a change once they transpired. I was powerless to stop any of it.

In more simplistic terms, my entire youth is a shining example of things outside my influence. Whether it be an excruciatingly delayed puberty or being prone to an uncontrollable flood of emotions, namely crying, and sometimes for no apparent reason. From school yard bullies to being "mugged" at the People's Drug store in Landover Mall, fear became frequent running mate.

In my childhood I would find myself with every desire to have my homework done before the weekend was over, yet time and time again, I was watching the end credits to The Wonderful World of Disney and glancing at an empty sheet of paper which was to be my homework. Each occasion had be swearing I'd never do that again. Each Sunday brought more disappointment.

Then there were the late nights. Restless, irritable and discontent. Sneaking out after midnight, coming in before dawn. Trips to the woods to drink and smoke, never able to leave until its over ( my typical bar experience too). I wanted more than I was getting, but I could not break the routine. My drinking revolved around socializing. I drink when I needed to fit in, to feel normal. It took the edge off of the uneasiness and it gave me stature amongst my peers.

When the responsibilities of life began to