I Don't Even Recognize My Life Anymore

I'm 'home' for the summer.... "Home" What the hell is home anyway? This 'home' the one I call the 'death trap' the 'crap shack' the 'house of a hoarder'.... this is the place that makes me so angry I would rather go running in the thunder storm then sit at a table with my family and eat food. Yeah I'm pretty messed up... but when I'm here the 'eating disorder' or whatever it is takes over.... At my other home, the one that feels like home, the place with the family that feels like family.... the place where my heart is... when I'm there I eat because I don't want to let them down... but I hate it because I don't want to eat, I want to be thin. But here.... what ever this place is, home, not home, whatever it is I don't feel bad for not eating.... I feel empowered. Strong. And that is the one and only reason I would stay here for four months. I know it's messed up the way a crook knows what he is doing is wrong.... I just don't see how it's not the right thing for me to do... this is what I do. I come here and I lose weight fast.... it's like robbing a bank, or stealing a car. I'm a hit man, and fat is my target. I have to take out fat, and fast because the mob boss.... the world will take me out if I don't take out fat.

Is this even real? Is this even me? I guess it is now...