My school guidance counselor told me I had been nominated to represent our school at a leadership camp for students in our area and I gladly accepted, not really knowing what I had agreed to. I was packed into a van with other students from neighboring schools, driven by a local rotary member who volunteered at the camp that summer. He was a large man by all accounts with wiry and thinning blond hair and a beer belly, but he was kind and helped with our bags. After a two-hour drive towards the center of Pennsylvania, we arrived, though not where I expected. I got out of the van and was met with a wash of green, with a river of yellow parting the landscape, an obviously beaten walking path towards a campground. There was only one visible structure at that point and after walking into the building with my new acquaintances from the van, we realized that it was only the check-in area and meeting hall, not living quarters for our four-day weekend. We received lanyards and were told to start the walk to our cabins to drop off our bags. Dragging my 30-pound, bright yellow suitcase felt like punishment as I crossed the clearing of dead grass. I was fixated on my cabin, which seemed was constantly in the distance. I walked through the doorway, no wider than two and a half feet, and was met with raw, brown, wooden walls and ceiling. There were nine beds, two sets of bunks lined each side wall, and one bunk sat on top of large cubbies, the only visible storage in the room. The only color to break up the brown were the brightly painted pink, yellow, and purple bunks, covered in sharpie graffiti. This camp is a sleep-away children's bible camp for the rest of the summer months, which also unfortunately meant that the thin mattress on which I put my sleeping bag was a children's twin bed. There was a single, uncovered lightbulb that hung from the ceiling, wiring exposed, and exactly 6 outlets from which we could charge our phones, which was pointless because there was little to no reception, no matter the phone carrier. I shared the room with 7 other girls, but only two of them were in the room. One girl was tall and sitting in the bottom bunk closest to the door on the right side of the room. She was around five foot and eight inches, with long, light brown, cork-screw curled hair pulled up into a high ponytail. She introduced herself as Veronica, just as the other girl got down from her bed at the back of the room to introduce herself. She was shorter than Veronica, but not by much. She was blonde, and her voice was loud. Her name was Meg and she wore only graphic t-shirts which were too big for her and knee-length athletic shorts. I said hello to the both of them, dropped off my things in my cubby, and went back out to meet my newly assigned "tribe": The Apache. When I got to the meeting hall, I looked for my group leaders who held a sign with our group name. The newly formed Apache group sat underneath a yellowing tree to find shade on the 95-degree day, then we began our ice-breaker activities to relax the nervousness. There were a few name games, questions about school and where we planned to go to college, and after a short water break, a new game began. After a short explanation, a round of the human knot began. Our tribe of 17 was split into two groups of eight and nine, and we all successfully untied our arms quickly, prompting the suggestion of a seventeen-person human knot. After linking hands with two different people across the group from me, I listened to several people shout instructions at each other. This went on for two minutes before I felt a sharp pop in my right shoulder, my right arm jerked across the front of my body. A bead of sweat rolled from my right temple down the side of my face just as my hearing started to disappear. Suddenly, the shouts were replaced with a distant ringing noise and the voices sounded as though everyone was ten feet away and underwater. I recognized the feeling and turned to the girl next to me, whose name I couldn't remember at the time, and said, "I'm going to pass out." I opened my eyes straight into the yellow, late afternoon sun, and looked around me to assess where I was. I heard someone to the side of me say, "She's awake!" I bent my arms to try to sit up onto my elbows, but as I lifted my head a new woman said, "No, no. You stay down." "How long was I out?" I asked. "About 30 seconds," the woman replied. "Can you answer a few questions for me?" "I feel fine," I tell her. "That’s fine. I just need to ask you some questions." She picked up my lanyard and continued with her questions about my contact information on my lanyard. After reciting my last name, home phone number, and home street address, the nurse decides I am alright, but still won't let me get up off the ground. She calls over a few counselors and mentions getting me to the nurse's station. I happened to know that the nurse's cabin was at the opposite corner of the clearing in the center of the camp, so I offered to get up and walk with my counselors to the station. Once they turned down my idea, I heard a van roll up. Assuming I would have to get into the van, I tried to stand up for the third time, only to be pushed back down again. A group of male counselors walked over and surrounded me. "Cross your arms and hold still while we carry you into the van," I heard from above me. I was already embarrassed after passing out during an activity at the beginning of the weekend, then I was carried into a van to be driven to the nurse's station. I was lifted by six men and deposited onto the crumb and dirt covered carpet floor of a Penn State painted luxury van. I heard the band REM playing softly over the speakers and thought the embarrassment felt like the end of the world as I knew it. The short drive got me over to the nurse's cabin, where the nurse and my counselor still did not trust me to walk on my own. I was helped into the cabin and laid onto a bed while the nurse called my mother to let her know that I had an incident. My mother was not surprised to hear that I had already hurt myself but insisted that I stay at the camp rather than be picked up to leave. The nurse brought me dinner from the food hall, had me eat and finish two water bottles before she let me rejoin my group. She drove me to the meeting hall where all the campers were listening to a lecture and walked me in. After finding my counselor, Teresa, who had a stocky female rugby player build and an attitude to match, I was assigned a fellow apache tribe member to watch after me because everyone was afraid I would pass out again. After assuring them that I would not, they welcomed me into the group and talked to me as though nothing ever happened. After the meeting adjourned, we walked outside to a deepened blue twilight sky. A short group discussion later, the campers were headed back to their cabins for some unpacking time before our last nighttime activity. When I got to my cabin, no one else was there and I decided that I should grab a sweatshirt because the outside temperature was cooling down quickly. Instead of fully opening my suitcase to retrieve a sweatshirt, I unzipped the top of it and stuffed my hand in, feeling around for it. I found it, pulled it out of the suitcase and started to put it on when something caught my eye. A red river, streaming down my arm confused me until I looked at my hand to see my pinky finger on my right hand was gushing blood from the top of it. I looked around to see how it could have happened and saw my shiny, fresh bladed razor sticking out of the top of my case. I had dropped it in the top of my suitcase as a last-minute item I had almost forgot before leaving home. When I reached in to grab my sweatshirt, each of the five blades swiftly cut the end of my pinky, skin sliced into four visible layers at the end of my finger, cutting so deeply that the blood ran down my arm. More aggravated than hurt, I finished putting on my sweatshirt and walked calmly to the bathroom, seven cabins away from mine. I walked in, rinsed my finger and wrapped it tightly in paper towel before going to the nurse's cabin. She wasn't there, and the door was locked, so I walked to where I was supposed to meet my group for our final activity. Before going inside, a man walked out and asked if I needed help. I explained my bloody situation and he walked inside to get Teresa who exclaimed, "Really?" She assessed my situation and ran to where she knew the nurse was, but not before sitting me on a nearby bench for fear I would pass out again. The nurse came to get me, wrapped my finger up and they excused me to join the rest of the activity. We all returned to our cabins at the end of the night and Meg shared a story about a girl who had passed out at the beginning of the day, and Veronica shared a story about a girl who was walking around bleeding. I laughed and unashamedly admitted to being the star of both of those stories, and after showing them my bandaged finger, they knew I was telling the truth.