I was born in an Internet age. Every interaction I'm having is virtual. I've probably been antisocial from the womb, and my parents never bothered about it. They wanted to raise me to have the freedom to make my own decisions. How could I make my own decisions when the internet held my fate? People's opinions about me held greater significance, and my decisions were primarily determined by their approval. They were probably too busy making an impression than raising me.

I'm internet famous. Thousands of followers and people who make me feel important. Running a popular meme account on Instagram. Ninety-nine point nine per cent of them don't know the girl behind that. The girl who jokes about her sadness and insecurities. The girl with whom they can relate simply because she voices their feelings. I don't even know what's real and what's not since I'm glued to the screen. I screamed from my memes, but my voice was drowned out by matters of humanity.

I'm back from school, and I go straight to my best friend and switch her on, the bright screen enveloping me into my virtual world. I find out what's trending and pick a funny picture—probably a piece of mediaeval art since they're my favourites. I begin to create so that I can share and be more famous; life is wonderful. Every day I wish for death so I wouldn't live without feelings. I had my wish granted when I chose to take a life.

"You should've sought help when you were alive," they said. I had spoken up the best way I could through my works of humorous art, but I wasn't calling for help. I had no idea what I needed help with. I didn't know whom I was calling out to and what I was reaching out for.

As I was put to sleep that day, I woke up in darkness. I try to think of everything I missed in life, but I can think of nothing. My conscience came to life and began to converse with me. The voice of my conscience was mocking me, teasing me, and poking at each of my fears. She was raking up regrets. She made it clear that my life was filled with vanity. The more I got, the more I wanted.

I was in darkness for two days. I wasn't scared at first, but then the loneliness became unbearable. Where are my parents? My followers? At that moment, I heard my conscience say, "You have finally received the death you wished for so badly; now do what you've always wanted to do with it." I felt lost and hollow, and for the first time in my life, I shed tears. I cried not because I was sad or afraid but because of the fact that I had wasted my life. For the weakness that brought me here before my time. Then my conscience spoke up again, this time less teasingly, "Go home, dear; it's not yet your time."

I could hear noises around me as my mother began screaming and nurses were running to and from my ward. I looked at her, and then she began crying, "Thank you, Lord!" "Oh, this is a miracle." My mother wasn't religious; did she really thank God?

The world was definitely different now. I was finally getting the attention I so badly wanted. She looked at me and grabbed my cheeks. "You've been in a coma for two days. You almost died from an overdose."