At the beginning of the second week, they gave us a task to do, so we had to act like puppets – which meant eating like puppets as well, apparently. I need my food or I get hungry. I’m skinny already, so not having any food makes me feel weak. (The food they gave us was like puppet food: really tiny portions.) We got given cold lentil soup and everyone was complaining, but having no food really got to me. One night, I went into the diary room to have a rant about the lentil soup, saying, ‘I wouldn’t give my dog that, it’s sick on a plate.’

Another time, I was banging on the door of the diary room. I knew by now I was living up to my reputation as Mental Megs – one headline about the show was ‘Megan has a meltdown over mashed potato’ – but I was so hungry, I didn’t care. I was screaming, ‘All I want is a fucking piece of toast. I’m starving.’ I was trying to explain that it was because of my gastric problems, but I couldn’t get the words out, and all I could see were people smiling and laughing at me getting upset. Stephanie literally fell to the floor laughing over what she saw as my usual overreaction. It was me and food, as always, only this time, because of the task, I was still wearing a black T-shirt and a pink, spotty bow tie. I was screaming at the Big Brother camera, ranting about them feeding me ‘three crackers and a fucking fig’. I didn’t even know what a bloody fig was but it was vile.

When I came back from the diary room, instead of any food, we’d been given massive bottles of Strongbow, tins of Spam and packets of Smash. It was literally like eating what I imagine cat food tastes like. As hungry as I was, I couldn’t force it down my mouth, so Scotty ended up eating my Spam. Of course, I drank the Strongbow, and went to bed on an empty tummy – not a good move!

The next day, we had a party to celebrate the end of the task. More drink was flowing, only this time it was wine, vodka and some Prosecco. I think it’s fair to say I was backing it. On an empty stomach, after not eating for two days, it’s also fair to say it got to me. Once again, I was completely paralytic.

I walked into the bedroom and heard John Partridge slagging off Stephanie, and this is when things started to go very wrong. It seemed to me like John was playing a game while he was in there, pretending to be all calm and mature, but playing people off against each other the whole time. My intentions all came from a good place, but because I was so drunk, everything I said came out all the wrong way. I was trying to get him to stop bitching about her – I kept saying he should just talk to her instead. It was some crap about her not tidying up her clothes. For a while, I had people agreeing with me, with Gemma saying, ‘Megan’s right, stop bitching.’

I should have stopped right there, but I was feeling paranoid about being judged for drinking too much, so I carried on shouting. At one point, I screamed at the top of my voice, ‘I clean my shit up. If I want a fucking drink, I can have a fucking drink. End of.’

All I wanted to say to John was, ‘If you want to say something, pull her in here and tell her to her face.’ I kept saying, ‘Tell her, tell her to clean her shit up,’ but because I was so fucked, the psycho in me soon came out. What was behind it? Hunger, being drunk, breakups, lies, the whole shitty shebang. I would not stop shouting, despite everyone trying to calm me down. Even gentle David tried, but I wasn’t listening to anyone.

Then, somewhere in the corner of my eye, I noticed Tiffany in the room, sitting in bed, laughing. I had no problem at all with her, we actually really got on, but I said to her, ‘I don’t know why you’re laughing, Tiffany, he’s the one who wanted everyone to walk out of this house for you! I stood up for you!’

It was true, that’s exactly what he’d been doing. A couple of days before, John had said he felt uncomfortable in the house and he thought she shouldn’t be here, and he’d tried to start a petition for us to all walk out of the house.

Because I didn’t think it was fair, I told her. But because I was so drunk and beyond all control, I shouted it at her really aggressively, so jumbled up that she couldn’t even listen to the words coming out of my mouth, she just heard me screaming. And she got up and went for me. Gemma was holding me back and… well, yep, it was just like Nu Bar all over again, except this time on national television.

What was really going on? I was trying to get my point across, but it wasn’t to her, it wasn’t to anyone else in the room, it was about John being a bully and me hating what he was doing and trying to stand up to him. He was so in control of the situation – he knew exactly what he was doing, and he was loving it. He just sat there, saying, ‘Oh look, look,’ and then Kristina joined in, laughing.

Everyone was saying, ‘Look at her,’ which wound me up even more. By now, I was completely out of control, hysterical – everything the producers had hoped for in booking me – and my gang had to restrain me and pull me into the bathroom. By now, my eyes were like the Devil’s and I was literally foaming at the mouth. My problem was with John, so I shouted, ‘He plays a game. He acts like a fucking innocent little shit bag. He stands there and acts like Mr Innocent. Fuck off, you little c**t. You don’t give a shit about anyone apart from yourself… I’ll go sick on that c**t. Do not lie on that bed and look at me with your fucking eyebrows pointing at me like that.’ Finally, the punchline, when it came, was short and sweet: ‘I’ve eaten gruel for that c**t.’ It’s fair to say it was defo not my finest hour.

That was when the voice of Big Brother boomed out, telling me to go to the diary room, but by then I couldn’t even speak. I have absolutely no memory of being in that bathroom, saying what I was saying. My conscious side had blanked out, while my nutty side had kicked in. All I knew was that, once again, I felt trapped in a bubble with no one who really cared for me.

I then had to go to the diary room, which was fine until I heard the sound of the lock turn. They’d actually locked me in, which was the worst thing they could possibly have done. With me, when I’m in a situation that’s got all confused like that, all I want to do is sort it out straight away. I don’t want to go and beat someone up, I just want to sort out any misunderstandings, and that’s what I wanted then, because I knew it had gone to a level that was bad – what I didn’t realise then was just how bad. I became so frustrated, I even hit the camera at one point. Then security turned up and started asking me what had happened, and that’s when things went from bad to worse.

I was still feeling really upset, pointing out that they’d let Tiffany off for bad behaviour, but now they were going for me. I hadn’t attacked anyone, I was never going to – look at me, I know I’m a twig in clothes – but they thought I was planning to go back in and smash the gaff up. I got more and more frustrated, shouting, ‘You let Tiffany get away with everything.’ I was a drunk mess. My anger was actually directed entirely at John Partridge, never her, but I was so angry, everything spilled out in the wrong way.

Just my luck, I got put in a different room for the night – all it had was a bed and a toilet, like a prison cell. I was desperate to go home, and asked to speak to the psychologist, but I finally passed out.

I woke up the next morning, by now feeling like complete shit with a massive hangover. They told me to go back into the diary room and asked me if I remembered what I’d said the night before. I couldn’t, so they went through it all, and it was terrible. When I heard the words read back to me right there and then once I was sober, I was gutted that I’d let myself get to that point, and that all my thoughts had come out so wrong. I had no idea what the outcome was going to be, and I had no idea this meltdown had gone viral out in the real world. I found out later that I was on the front cover of loads of national newspapers, people like Alan Carr were tweeting about me, it was being discussed on breakfast TV shows, you name it. I even ended up being the answer to a question on The Chase. It was only then I thought, ‘Shit, I’ve actually made it.’

I knew I needed to go back inside and explain to Tiffany why I was actually rowing with John in the first place. I went straight back into the main room, found her, ignored the others, and managed to explain what had gone on, that it had been John meddling. Straight away, she said, ‘Girl, come here,’ and gave me a big hug, and then everything was sweet between us, as it had been before and stayed being after. I ended up with a formal warning, and Tiffany also got a warning, so we settled for that. As for John, I managed to avoid him mostly afterwards, although, when we did bump into each other, we were civil. Everything in the house seemed to calm down quite dramatically after that huge scene, actually. I was much more chilled out, and it was actually Gemma who started clashing with John more than I did. Clearly, he just doesn’t understand us Essex girls.

However, I don’t believe it was any coincidence that, a few days later, he nominated me for eviction – I left, still holding onto my dignity, on day eighteen. I could tell John wanted to win, and I like to think the audience saw through him and his calculating ways – cool head, cold heart. He eventually came sixth, and he said afterwards he’d learnt a lot in there. I agreed with him when he said that every human emotion gets blown up once you get inside the house. I think ultimately people ended up agreeing with me about John, but not for the first or last time in my life, I know it was my poor delivery skills that let me down.

A bigger lesson, one I’m still learning, is about the negative backlash of my rages. During my exit interview, I was pretty mortified when they played back the film of my meltdown inside the diary room, and I knew I had to apologise for hitting the camera. I tried to explain what was going on in my head, but I knew the pictures were what people would remember. Whenever that’s happened in my life, it’s never been who I want to be. Like I said, I was brought up really well by a loving family who taught me all about good manners. I don’t think I’ve ever been given a cup of tea without saying ‘thank you’. The anger comes out when I’m trying to express myself, and I feel like everyone’s trying to stop me, probably because they’ve realised I’m pissed and angry and they know I’m not doing myself any favours. I’ve had people constantly try and calm me down, when they shouldn’t bother because then I feel trapped. I just need to be left alone to burn myself out like a spinning top, although in an ideal world, I’d never be in that state in the first place. Like I said, I’m still learning.