I Am Jane Doe

 I Am Jane Doe

Before

Please note: I have chosen to use this rapist’s real name because what he did was reprehensible. He deserves the shame that comes along with being a rapist. Period. I won’t sugar coat what he did. It took a long time to come to terms with what happened, but I can say it now. He raped me. It was not subjective reality or a misinterpretation as my brain tried to convince me. I was prey and he was a predator. He knew exactly what he was doing and I got caught in a bear trap. So, fuck him. He doesn’t deserve to be anonymous. 

October 20, 2020. The date we set to meet for the first time. We had been talking for a few days, maybe a week. I was confident I knew where this was going, and I was willing. In theory. He showed up to pick me up in this beige station wagon from the 70’s. It even had a wooden gloss interior, like the old luxury cars had. He was wearing a gray University sweatshirt. He worked there as a professor, he told me. He was crazy smart, like math and science smart. He had degrees. He was worldly. He looked like your typical guy in his 40’s. He even had a dad bod. I figured because he had a professional reputation, there was no real risk associated with him. I mean, if he did something, I could always tell his boss, right?

I won’t go into details. No one needs to know the events of that day in any detail. I wish I could forget, but the images are ingrained in my brain. He sent me the video afterwards. It’s hard not to remember in vivid detail when I got to see it from multiple perspectives. When I saw the video, I couldn't recognize myself in it. I knew it was me, but I was already disconnected from that girl. That girl didn't survive that encounter. Sexual assault kills a part of you that never truly recovers. We can learn to live with what happened to us, but we'll be the girl we were before it happened. It's a life-changing experience. 

My Rapist's Name is Joseph Mitchell Kelly

I didn't charge him. I didn't file a report. I knew no one would believe me. The video made it all seem consenaul. But it wasn't. I was screaming inside my head to get out of there, but I knew trying to fight would only make it worse. I played along because that was the only way I was getting out of the situation. I froze and I fawned. I couldn't fight. Every ounce of fight inside of me was paralyzed by fear. In the moment, I couldn't process what was even happening to me. I disconnected because that's the only way to get through that. 

I was in denial that it had even happened. I attended a class right after, like nothing was wrong. Then I cried myself to sleep that night. And the following night. And periodically, even to this day. The memory will come up and overwhelm me sometimes. I like to think it doens't affect me because I didn't want to let it change me. But it did. It always does. Always. I did have to go to the hospital. I did have to go through the rape kit. I didn’t want to. It was the last thing I wanted to do. I wanted to just forget it had even happened. I didn’t want to have to relieve it in graphic detail for the nurse. But I did. I had to tell her exactly what happened. I had to get naked. I had to have my body examined by a nurse. I had to consent to a rape kit, getting swabbed for DNA. Every step of the process was even more invasive. I wish it was a smoother process, but, it isn’t. I just wanted out of the hospital. 

I was told I should press charges, but again, no one would believe me. The video showed me engaging in sexual acts. Personally, I don't know who was in that video. I know it wasn't me. How do you explain that to someone else? It was body, but my mind was broken. I was a million miles away in my head in an open field looking at the beautiful flowers. You do whatever you have to in order to survive. 

But it doesn't end there...

I would carry that trauma for the rest of my life, the way I had carried those prior. 

The medication I had to taken in the weeks after the assault made the whole process even more traumatizing. My body has been through an assault and the medication felt like an assault from the inside out. If anyone thinks those morning after pills are fun, they've never had to take one. It felt like my insides were poisoned. I don't know how much of that was psychological. I was poisoned. I was no good. I was bad. I deserved it....

So the tapes start playing...

What did I do wrong? What could I have done differently? I should have been stronger. I should have fought him off. I should have ran. Should, should, should. Why? Why? Why?

There are never answers because there's never a time a sexual assault is understandable. It's one of the most senseless acts and it has monumental consequences for the victims. The worst the assailant has to suffer is jail time. They don't have to carry the trauma of assaulting someone. Someone who has been assaulting carries that weight forever. I really liked the "Carry That Weight" demonstration. It was a perfect way to illustrate what it feels like. You can't ask for help. Everyone always says "you should have reported him", still. What difference would it have made? He wasn't going to face the reprocussions of his actions and I knew that. So rarely do rapists actually get held accountable for their shitty fucking decisions. I think it takes a special kind of evil to commit rape.

In the weeks that followed, I had to get regularly checked for STD's. I had to get weekly bloodwork. I was exhausted and sick and traumatized. And what was I thinking about? It was my own fault. I should have never gotten into the car with a stranger. I should have worn jeans. I should have put my hair up. I should have... The fact that a victim's instant response is to blame themselves tells you everything you need to know about the way we're taught. I saw a post on Instagram that really cemented how fucked up all of this is: Girls, what were you told to yell if someone is trying to rape you? The answer? Fire. Because no one will come to save you if you yell rape. Kitty Genovasing was assault in public and people walked by and did nothing. If you don't say something and stand up for those who can't stand up for themselves, you're guilty. You're guilty of nothing. And nothing is just as bad. 

It changed a lot of things in my life. It changed how I viewed other people. I started to become withdrawn because I didn’t really trust anyone. I didn’t trust myself either. I didn’t trust my intuition. I didn’t trust my judgment of character. I really blamed myself hard for everything that happened.

I don’t think it was my fault. But I didn’t help the situation. See? That’s an attempt to downplay something awful because I can’t handle how violating the entire ordeal was. I can acknowledge it though. It’s not like I’ve pushed the event out of my head completely. How could I? That's a anchor tied around my neck that I'll never get rid of. I can only make it weight less by letting some of it off my chest. I have slowly processed what happened that night. I have thought about what could have been done differently. I have thought about my motives and my actions most. I question what was going through my mind. I won’t know though. I’m not that person anymore. The person who experienced that trauma has been compartmentalized and given someone else's name. She holds that trauma so that I don’t have to feel violated every single day of my life.

Because you become scared of everything. People, places, things. You start percieving everything as a threat because something you thought was safe turned out to be unsafe. Being raped changes the way you think about the world, other people, and mostly yourself. It's scarring on every level and not always in noticeable ways. Sometimes the scars are subtle. They manifest in eccentricities and strange behavorial patterns because there's still a part of us trying to make sense of something that was utterly senseless.

1/4 women are sexually assault. 1/16 men. It doesn't matter what your gender is, it can happen to you.

I wonder how the Cornell 7 story would read if sorority girls were taking advantage of passed out frat brothers. Is it not the same thing? It's still nonconsesual. It's still rape. Even if it's enjoyable, if consent wasn't given, it's rape. I don't understand why it's so hard for many people to process what the word rape means. If you ask to stop and that request is ignored, it's rape. Even if it's your significant other. We need to stop censoring the word rape just because it makes people uncomfortable. It's fucking supposed to! We should never be okay hearing the word rape. 

This isn't the first time I've told this story. The first time was in my memoir, which hasn't been released publicly. I've taken that chapter and modified it slightly. I was matter of fact in the book because I didn't want to be a bummer. I didn't talk about the psychological and emotional damages. I focused on the physical trauma because I could explain it. I don’t want to be a victim because I can’t handle everyone looking at me with pity in their eyes. It just breaks my heart. How fucked up is that? I'm more worried about how it'll be perceived than I am how much of burden it is to carry with me. 

So why am I posting this? I should have a long time ago. For every other victim who might be out there. The next time a girl searches his name on Google, I want this essay to come up. I want her to know the kind of man she's dealing with because no one warned me. 

We are all Jane Doe.

Before you cast your stones, ask your questions, make your assumptions and hunt your witches - Ask the people in your life how it impacted them. You know someone who's been raped, even if they've never said a word. 

After