I’m arriving at the social media party so late that the lights are on and the floor is being swept. As a result, I’ve only recently learned that if you look at anything for two seconds, it teaches your algorithm that this is all you want to see. A cheerful dog was the gateway drug. Now, I am accidentally on Death Instagram. It is not very LOL.

The lengthy caption on Fido’s joyful, tail-waggy photo unfortunately revealed that he’d just crossed the rainbow bridge. This information was not delivered succinctly, though, meaning I lingered long enough to inform Mark Zuckerberg that this was very much my jam.

Photos of happy couples began to pop up, people I didn’t know or even recognise, which made me curious as to why I was being shown them. Again and again, like a lab rat in an experiment failing to cotton on despite the electric shocks, I read the accompanying words, only to discover one of them was announcing the sad passing of the other.

Fast forward to today and my feed is wall-to-wall bereaved (and Harry Styles, whom I have never been more grateful for, promoting his new album Kiss All the Time. Disco, Occasionally). It’s my own fault, because I keep falling for it – seeing a smiley picture, hoping it’s good news this time, but – d’oh! – no, it’s not, again and again.

Maybe this constant reminder that life can be cruel and brief makes some people appreciate their lot and ultimately proves uplifting. Not me. I’m in a constant, confusing state of mourning for animals and humans I’ve never met and devastated for the sad strangers left behind. Some research suggests social media can make you depressed, but I was not expecting this to be the delivery method. Maybe the answer is right under my nose. From now on: Scroll All the Time. Click, Occasionally.

• Polly Hudson is a freelance writer

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