Banana and Chocolate Chip Pancakes

I feel unsafe beneath all these layers of thick Irish wool and long, patterned socks. No matter how many times I wrap my hands around the same cup of tea, my fingers tremble with uncertainty. As if making myself feel-better pancakes and listening to Matty Healy bleed through my speakers is having every unthought negative effect on my brain. As if I understand, deep down, that this Breathe Deep tea won’t eradicate the drugs from my lungs and that this Irish sweater my sister bought me isn’t keeping me cosy because for that My mind needs to be at peace. And this indescribable feeling of absolute despondency is seeping through cracks in my porcelain I thought had long ago sealed themselves with the glue of misuse. There’s a listless knowing in the back of my mouth choking my words and gagging my throat until I hope to puke. This tea is tepid and my cat has finally come inside from the onslaught of snow behind my home’s walls and I am still so unsure of myself and how to keep my own snowstorm behind the walls I’ve so carefully set up inside my head. But now the snow is coming down hard enough to blind my sight and freeze my hands and I still feel so unsafe.