Always too good to last

My fingers don't know which letters to tap first to begin this story. They are motionless on the keyboard whenever I try and begin it. I just look at them, hoping that they will find a way to hit the right keys and get it out. It isn't even dramatic. It is normal. That is the problem. A normal occurence to the story of my life. If my life was Duras' La Douleur, the event would take the place of the silent telephone. My heart is beating overtime. Not from standing up too quick, not from trying to go to sleep after drinking diet coke. From sugar. Yep. And not fruit juice. Nope. That would be too good. From...
2 80g plain rolls
a chicken sandwich
a slice of carrot cake
2 apples
a bag of crisps
20 honey and sesame biscuits
2 apple purees
2 glasses of banana juice
skimmed milk
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I am not speechless. I am finger-disabled. The fingers are in part to blame, though, aren't they. So maybe it is because I am looking at them that they aren't giving me any answers. So I am crying again. On the bed, again. Losing all hope as we speak. It is not ok. It will never be ok, because I am stuck like this. Who am I kidding, really? Who am I fooling by pretending that I might possibly be able to return to my days where I avoided food at all costs. Who am I fooling? I am a joke. A total joke. I didn't want to eat. I wasn't hungry. I wasn't feeling sick anymore. So. Why? I am always going to do this. Always. I don't have an eating disorder. I eat perfectly well. Why am I missing my year abroad when I eat more than normal? Why am I going to see a counsellor in October? I am not underweight. I will never be underweight. I am not disordered. My brain tells me to eat, and I eat. Bravo! I can eat! Wow, mummy should be really proud of fat Amanda. Everyone of my friends, EVERY SINGLE ONE, thinks that I don't eat. Because I cannot bear to eat infront of people. Because I want to believe that I don't eat. Because I don't want this type of the disorder. I want the one that escaped me. I want the succesful one. I want. I want. I want. I always want. ALWAYS damn WANT. How am I ever going to change this? I am never going to change. I am going to slip further and further into this and get fatter and more miserable and then fail my degree and I am scared. I am really really scared. I don't want to be this girl. I don't want to be this girl at all. I want to be the happy thin one that wears her jeans without them being tight, who steps on the scales and sees another pound lost, again. Not the girl who raides a supermarket at the sight of money and binges her face off. I don't want to cry on the stupid bed not doing any stupid work. How do I make this stop? I cant make this stop. There is no magic fix. It needs to stop. Needs to stop. Stupid man nurse doesn't write me miracles. Can't you see STUPID BODY that you are CRYING OUT for THIN but never giving it to me? Cant you see that you are falling apart before your own eyes?
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Paris was a facade. I was never getting better. I was distracted. It was always always about the food. If I had eaten, If I hadn't eaten. I have done no better than before. I am just isolating myself from everyone near me all over again. Sitting on my bed, saying no to meeting people.
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I really do not know what to do. This is so forever. And I want a different forever. Why do I always do this? What is wrong with me? WHY AM I NOT THIN NOW? IT HAS BEEN 5 STUPID YEARS AND YOU ARE NOWHERE. Dumbarse