When I was 16 I had this boyfriend. My first boyfriend. My first kiss. The first guy to tell me that he liked my eyes and that he thought I was beautiful. We went out for about a year and a half. And near the end, he just wanted so much more than I can give him. Every time I tell this stupid story I have to say, "I wasn't raped." Because... I wasn't. But I don't know what happened. I know he touched me and talked about things that he wanted to do and I tried to get away. And when he did things, he did it without my permission. I finally got it to stop when I started crying one day and complained that I couldn't tell my parents. The fucked up part? It wasn't the first time I had cried because of what he was doing to me. About a year later I did tell my parents and they send me to my bishop (I was then a part of the LDS faith) and he treated it like it was my fault, like my parents, and just like him Now, five years later, I look back at this whole experience and realize that I said no. I did every thing I was taught to get away from a bad situation and it didn't work. What's worse is that I was punished for it. And now, I've been diagnosed with PTSD because of it. Nightmares, flashbacks, avoiding situations where I could see him (even though we live in the same town, it sucks), and it's just so bad. I just want closure, I want to be okay. But I feel like I can't do that if I can't label what happened to me. I can say that it was bad. That (at the time) I didn't deserve it. That I blame him for a lot of my problems. But I can't give a name to the Trauma.