Rescue Mission

Hello! How many of you have ever volunteered in a rescue mission? Imagine you are a person who does this regularly and your identity is wrapped up in your volunteerism. What would you do if all of a sudden you could no longer be who you were anymore?

This is my true story of tragedy and triumph, identity theft, rescue, and healing. This is my personal rescue mission.

For five years, I volunteered at a rescue mission. I even served on the board of directors for a year and a half! I cared for the unloved and the outcasts. I saw people’s souls, potential, and need for love and validation. It was at the rescue mission that I met my lost soul.

I am a Christian and I felt convicted to reach out to him. He was in extreme poverty. His clothes were rags hanging off his body, his hair and beard were wild, and he was beyond dirty and smelled horrid. He was unapproachable and walled off from everyone. He didn’t speak above a whisper. After a while, he began a metamorphosis and we were all elated at the positive changes happening. I had become a friend to this lost soul. This was a process of about a year and a half.

One day, about a month before he was to have housing, his mother died suddenly and unexpectedly. It was at this time that my lost soul became my aggressor. I went to the park where he lived to tell him of an appointment to look at an apartment and he assaulted me. I was shocked and angry and told him in no uncertain terms this was not acceptable. He apologized and promised to not do it again. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and continued to help him.

About eight months went by without any more incidents until one day when I was helping him undecorate the Christmas tree. He assaulted me again, this time locking me in his place. I was able to talk my way out and left. I reported this assault to his mental health worker but because I didn’t go to the police, the mental health worker refused to communicate with me anymore. I had all of a suddenly done something bad by having my friend assault me. I felt betrayed and angry, but I still felt duty-bound to help him. So, I pulled away and sought counseling to deal with the hurt he had caused me.

When he noticed the distance, it made him angry. I would only meet with him in public places like restaurants once a week to check in with him. But this wasn’t enough for him. He started to abuse me verbally so I quit meeting him altogether. At this point, my aggressor became my stalker.

I started to receive numerous texts a day. I ignored them for an entire month and one day he decided to call me at my office. He was being verbally abusive to me and I hung up on him. When he called my office again I told him I would call the police if he called that number again. So he started to call my cell phone. He left five ranting voicemails abusing me verbally and accusing me of wild things. At that time, I placed a restraining order on him. When it was issued to him, he abandoned his apartment and nobody saw him anymore.

I am a runner. I used to go to a public park on my lunch breaks and walk the 5K path between the pool and the university. One day a month, after the restraining order went into effect, I ran into my stalker. He wanted to talk, apologize. I spoke briefly to him and left the park. The next day, I was again on the walking path and I heard heavy, clumpy footsteps behind me. I turned around and my stalker was there. Again, he wanted to talk; I reminded him there was a restraining order, and when I mentioned it, he was agitated. He asked me to talk to him. He again apologized for his behavior. I offered my forgiveness and left the park.

In thinking this over, I knew I needed to see him face-to-face and tell him in my own words and way that I would never go back to that park since he appeared to be living there again. When I did this, my stalker then became my rapist.

I was in a public park at about 10:30 am with people all around. I was on crutches from a foot injury due to running. My rapist took advantage of my injury. First, he sat on me and tried to take my shirts off, then when I got him off and stood up, he backed me into a log and raped me. During the rape, I looked up to my right and saw three people walking by. None of them helped me but one of them saw me. When he was finished, he just simply stepped back and looked at me with no expression. He had no remorse, shame, shock, or compassion for what he had just done to me. I was no longer human. I lost me!

I didn’t report the incident immediately. I was in incredible shock and was a mess emotionally. I couldn’t stand how I felt or the smell of him on me. I did what you are not supposed to do. I showered twice and washed my clothes. Just touching them again made me want to shower again. The next day I realized I HAD to report it or he would do this again, and maybe to another person. Little did I know that reporting this crime would be equal to or worse than what I had just suffered. I now know why people don’t report this.

I soon realized that he had all the rights and I had none. He was “innocent until proven guilty” and I was presumed to be a liar until proven otherwise. THIS IS WRONG. I should have the same rights, presumed to be telling the truth until proven otherwise. To make matters worse, two women defended him. They were ruthless, cold, and heartless in how they treated me. They tried to destroy my character, mocking me, glaring, sneering, and bullying me. But I stood up to them and refused to back down. I suffered greatly with depression, suicidal thoughts, and acute PTSD. I now needed to rescue myself. It was a long, hard, uphill battle. Eventually, he was convicted. I vindicated and believed by a unanimous jury.

I now know why people don’t report this.

Getting through the trial was triggering, and mentally, spiritually, and physically exhausting. I am glad I did it. I held him accountable for his actions and gave a voice to rape victims. This was a victory.

I had to take care of ME now. I had seven months between the trial and sentencing in which to begin healing. I was finally able to voice my pain and speak to my rapist with my powerful victim impact statement. Facing him freed me of my fear. I spoke my truth and he had to listen. He was sentenced to 40 years with 20 suspended and many parole stipulations.

I am lucky to have had a great support system This is crucial for all rape survivors. I took back me. I wrote a book, Burying Jane Doe. I am speaking out. Silence isolates. I have learned this isn’t my shame, it is his.

I am not the same anymore. I was broken. My perception of the world was altered, so I was altered. I had to figure out how to do ME again. I no longer volunteer at the rescue mission, but I still love the people they serve. What tried to destroy me has made me stronger. I choose survivor, not victim.

My name is no longer Jane Doe. Rest in peace Jane. My name is strength. My name is dignity. My name is courage. My name is Barb Jenkins and I am a survivor. I am proud to be who I am despite the awful event that changed my life. I am glad to have spoken up and I hope to encourage others to be brave and speak up too. Rape does not have to define us and it certainly doesn’t need to dictate our futures. There is hope, healing, and life after rape.