"I've watched 46 episodes of this TV show in three weeks and someone please save me."

Readers, I write this in a time of dire need: a television program is destroying my brain… and I love it.

Yep. A wee bitta reality television about bikini-clad humans (who look like they belong in one of those charcoal toothpaste Instagram commercials) has changed me.

Love Island, people. I’m talking about Love Island, the show that has dominated the UK’s ratings and has 2,000,000 average viewers every night.

For those who haven’t frequented the Daily Mail over the last two months, this show is the perfect alchemy of The Bachelor and Big Brother with the teeniest, tiniest dollop of Geordie Shore.

In TV mathematical terms, it’s made from a recipe of bloody perfection.

Love Island sees approximately 12 singletons enter a luxurious Spanish “villa” with the hopes of finding love/enough fame to launch a lifestyle blog. The result? The most entertaining, cringe-worthy, hilarious drama I’ve seen in years.

Why? Because the most popular couple don’t just leave with some mushy feelings and tired genitalia, they pocket 50,000 pounds (AU$82,201) too.

But if you thought some sweet dubloons would ensure the contestants latch onto each other and never part ways until the series ends, though, think again. Season three has seen more re-couplings than the mind can comprehend.

Oh, and cheating scandals… my personal favourite.

For those of you who feel fearful about your brain being numbed every night (one couple did debate about the definition of the word “compatible” for about four years), don’t fear. Camilla, the intelligent ex-girlfriend of Prince Harry who works in explosive ordnance disposal in war-torn regions, is the contestant that brings some class to the show.

But if class isn’t your thing, never fear! We also have bucket loads of anti-class, too.

LOADS.

Like when one woman told another contestant she’d have sex with him if “nobody could ever find out” before telling her on-again off-again partner she loved him and wanted to be his girlfriend.

Or when one dude promised he’d stay with his partner and that the new girl was “nothing to worry about” before – of course – proving that she was totally and completely something to worry about.

It’s all very morally dodgy, but boy does it make for some addictive telly.

I’m 46 episodes deep (no judgement zone) and am utterly convinced some of the couples are actually in love.

It might be trashy, but for so many reasons, Love Island keeps me coming back for more. I’ve started saying the words “melt” and “muggy” in everyday life. Yesterday, I told my boyfriend he was “100 per cent my type on paper.”

Basically, I’ve lost the plot and am one episode away from speaking with a British accent.

My colleagues keep rolling their eyes when I bounce in every morning, keen to tell them about what effed up thing Olivia did to Chris, or how Gabby is TOTALLY faking that she’s into Marcel.

Considering that next week is the season finale, AKA the last day of my life, I’m a teeny tiny bit of a depresso espresso.

If you want to develop a serious TV addiction like me, episodes of Love Island are available to stream for free on 9Now.