I've been back roughly the time I put into my special summer experience, and I'd say at this point, it's a wound that is scabbing over pretty nicely, most of the time. The skin underneath will never be the same, and someday I'm told, it's rumored, I will take pride in the scar. It will somehow contribute to me becoming a stronger person, which is to mean, better.
But for now, it's still an ugly deformity, still sensitive to festering, still causing me to question a variety of "What the hell was that?!" most of the time.
Which then segues into the validation of, "That was the single-worst experience of my entire life," and then the definitive question, "Why was I supposed to go through that?"
Then I delve right into existential thoughts, getting confused somewhere between the meaning of suffering and the notion that I've destined myself to more unprecedented battles by virtue of the fact that I've proved I can handle them (barely, if at all) ... This is what they mean by a "stronger" person, right?
Which leads me to circle back to "What. the. hell. was. that?!" again.
There is no end, no conclusion.
Hey God, I'm not that strong. Throw me a bone.