The internet has made and destroyed me in equal measure.

Picture this: I'm eleven years old, and we've just gotten our first family computer. I was some months into secondary school, having spent the first few months working from a local library whilst my mum read magazines in a corner. It was clear very early on, the things I'd explore on the internet. Yes, you've guessed it. My future.

My eleven-year-old self was set on a gleaming future of ateliers, film sets, and antique writing desks alike, but I—then a young girl—only knew of a male-dominated vernacular that surrounded everything I wanted to be.

Had it of not been for spending many evenings in the technological grotto I made in the spare bedroom of our suburban home, I may not have discovered who I was, despite sporadically wondering who I am even now in my twenties.

In the small room that hung above the main road, I would get lost in an eclectic taste in music, foreign films, and MSN. I learned things. Things that nobody around me knew. I explored galleries and exhibitions. I discovered fascinating women: Vivienne Westwood, Joan Didion, Nancy Meyers, and Nora Ephron. I researched post-graduate courses and journeys through European cities. I was only eleven.

Most importantly, I confirmed that I could be more than just one thing—against the formula prescribed by schools to follow one academic path. I learned that you didn't have to go to university or get a degree. And I felt free for the first time.

I started to design who I wanted to become and age fourteen. I went into central London alone for the first time and did exactly what every fourteen-year-old does. I walked around Mayfair spotting details in the architecture of stone buildings. I bought takeaway tea (a year before finding my feet in coffee) and spent several hours combing through every corner of Selfridges. I rode the train home. Feet dragging. Eyes barely open. Imagination burning. I had tested what I thought adulthood would be like.

At eighteen, I got into art school. My life was ready to begin. Then it took a turn when somewhat suddenly, I had my first panic attack and my mental health began to deteriorate.

The internet soon became a dangerous escape from living. It allowed me to check maps down to the very second for how long it would take me to escape a place, should I feel the need. And a fear of missing out and too much information began to cradle my anxiety's inception.

It even gave me an excuse, albeit a much cheaper excuse, not to move to California and study at university when I could instead learn from it via very good WiFi in my bedroom over the next year. The majority of my studies became self-paced, self-studied, and self-educated. I was shown an endless swirling portal of information, and I liked it. I could learn from some of the best auteurs, and yet, something was still missing.

It's sad to admit that I used the internet to escape, rather than to be out there thriving in the streets of Paris, Berlin, or Edinburgh. I was afraid, encapsulated by the blue light of my laptop.

I became stuck in a cycle of unpaid opportunities. My work was often judged under my own scrutiny and self-assessed direction. It became hard to improve or to judge my work objectively.

Despite the internet's many glories, you're never satisfied when you know what the real world holds. Once I learned to put myself into the real world—a transition that was tough to start—my world opened up. The fear was—and often still is—there, but the effect? A thrilling sense of accomplishment and fulfillment, and I've never been happier.

The internet did allow me and my best friend to become closer with hundreds of miles in-between us; it formed our local hangout. I had opportunities at my fingertips. I was aware of what was out there for me to explore in person. The internet allowed me to have visual scrapbooks, to research work that would become published, and to plan trips that will stay with me for a lifetime.

Lesson is, do what you're daydreaming online, IRL.

-Marianna Michael

Not one for following tradition, Marianna attended art school before continuing studies in fashion, arts, and writing. This began a real infatuation with self-study courses. She finally put passion into actuality, and embarked on UCLA film school courses from home in London. She took fortuitous opportunities and, whilst working within the arts, started to freelance as a writer, though she would often take other creative roles as well.