Why Do You Do This? (YouTuber FF) *under editing*

Bad Goes to Worst

The first cut is the deepest. As it is also the most painful. After that it's numb. But then when you start to feel it again, it's worst than before. The aftermath is worst than the attack. Just like an earthquake. It's not the actual shaking that hurts us, it's the aftermath. Buildings falling is the aftermath. Trees braking is the aftermath. The large expensive bill of damage is the aftermath. You see, most deadly things don't kill you. It's the aftermath of those deadly things that kills you. Cutting yourself doesn't kill you, a large amount if blood loss kills you.

And that's how the eleven hour flight back to California went. Thoughts of death and human errors run through my head almost to fast to focus on one. The one thing I hate most is when I can't think just one thought until I have studied ever single detail of it. I hate when they go so fast that I can only see the surface. That's one reason why I get anxiety attacks. Because my thoughts of the past goes to fast for me to elaborate and I panic which doesn't help at all.

Five hours in to the flight, Dan kept telling me to go to sleep and rest until he finally past out leaving me conscious in reality. Sadly. I tried for about two hours to fall asleep until I gave up, take out my laptop and us the planes wifi to surf the internet. My phone is dead because I forgot to put it on airplane mode and my battery was quickly drained after the first hour. Finally, nine hours into the flight I past out, joining the ninety sleeping people. My head rest on Dan's shoulder.

The dreams I had where horrible. It consists of how my mom getting into the car crash. Someone ramming her into the side. A truck running over her, completely flattening her. A drunk driver. Some one falling asleep at the wheel. All the other people were at fault because she couldn't have caused it. She was the most careful driver I ever knew. Always going the speed limit. Always keeping her eyes on the road. This was most definitely someone else's fault.

About two minutes after landing, Dan's voice interrupts my dream, making me wake up. My head was still resting against his shoulder but I notice that I have a hoodie draped across my upper body. It all black and smells like Dan. People crowed the isle, trying to get their bags and get off the plane. I stretch out my limbs, yawning slightly before straightening up and handing Dan his hoodie back. We sit there for a few moments, letting the people get out if our way and us out of theirs. We finally stand up into the isle and get our two carry on bags out of the top. Once out of the plane, we go to baggage claim where it takes about twenty minutes to find our things. Next we have to go to customs. That takes about ten minutes since Dan is a foreign teenage looking, awkward, emo hair cut boy that mumbles and says the wrong things. I think I just described Dan perfectly.

Anyway, after that we try and find the place that we rent a car since we don't have one and a taxi wouldn't go to the hospital we need. So the process of finding the place, signing papers and other shit that goes along with renting a car takes what feels like an hour but probably only a half hour or forty minutes. Since Dan doesn't know his way around, I have to drive. That and he would probably try to drive on the wrong side of the road and kill us all. Sometimes, it's best to not trust him with things like that. So we throw our bags into the trunk and get in. Me in the drivers seat and Dan in the passenger seat. The hospital is about an hour away. We should get there about ten in the morning. So the whole ride was the radio station playing terrible music quietly, my nervous flipping my stomach to many times and Dan trying to crack jokes about American things. Like how we drive, our weather, our billboard ads on the side of the road and so far my favorite, how our license plates are white and not yellow.

But the hour went by quickly and we are walking through the halls trying to find her room. The hospital it's self isn't that big. Only two floors. It's one of the smallest I've been in. So it didn't take long to find the room she is in. But when we get in here, only two patients are sitting on either of the four beds in the room. The two empty beds are made neatly but I can't help have receive an unsettling feeling from them. They are quiet weary. Two of the patients, each in beds, are between the ages of 50-60. One has a shaved spot on her head with silver stitches in a long line. The other looks practically healthy. Maybe a bit pale but other than that, fine. A nurse stands next to the healthy looking one, talking to her about her condition.