Diary of a Fat Kat

I have been in the military for almost 13 years and today, I reached my highest weight since I joined.  How did this happen?  And the most horrible part?  I'm deployed right now.  I'm that guy.  I'm the deployment fatty.  That POS Officer that comes back home fatter than when I left.  I made fun of people like that. 

I'm uncomfortable in my own skin.  I hate myself.  I'm ashamed to walk outside.  I feel sorry for those who have to salute me.  I know what people are thinking when they see me.  "Wow, she put on a few pounds." 

I could literally have the entire world at my feet, if only I could stop eating it.  I'm so smart and so driven - unless it comes to smart eating and a driving PT schedule.  I used to do PT religiously.  It didn't matter if I just pulled an 18-hour day -- I was going running.  Now, I pull a 9 hour shift and I can't get off of my butt to hit the elliptical.  I used to do three-a-days.  Now, three-a-day refers to my cupcake limit.

Even as I sit here typing this, I can feel the fat in my abdomen pressing out over my lap.  My breathing uncomfortably taking effort as the fat around my ribs begs my sports bra to expand a little further with every inhale.  My thighs pooling in the center of the chair, fighting each other for space.  It's grotesque.  I read cards calling me a hero.  I don't think they realize I wear this cape because it's the only thing that will cover my hips.

Day 1: 169 pounds.
PT: Treadmill Run 1.7 miles in 20 minutes
Diet: Dinner Downfall - 3 cups of Life cereal, 1 cup sunflower seeds, 3 chocolate chip cookies

Something has to change.

This is me baring my soul.  All 169 pounds of it.  And for those of you who would kill to be 5'7" and 169 -- I'll take one guess that you're not in the military.  As a cubicle worker that might be ok - but as a female First Lieutenant deployed overseas in the United States Army, it is a stand-alone reason for suicide.  I'm not being dramatic.  The US Army has one of the highest suicide rates of any demographic in the country, and I can honestly say I know why.  When everything you do is measured against how fast you can run, you become more worthless with every gelatinous step you take.  Never mind society demanding your small waist and huge tits for acceptance, but everyone you are surrounded by every moment of every day now looks at you with disdain or disgust or pity because you don't meet the standard.  This is the world I choose to live in.  And every day, it's the world I wish I could choose to end.  All because I can't put down the peanut M&Ms.  What the hell is wrong with me?