Image Description: Cartoon horse in the center of the photo, against a blue sky with clouds. The horse, ‘Bojack’, seems to have a sweater and a grey blazer on, with a concerned and anxious face. 

One of the first Netflix original shows, Bojack Horseman, tells the story of a sentient horse who ended up spiraling into a life of drugs, alcohol, womanizing and oblivion after his “very famous TV show” from the 90s ended. For me, a woman with a prevalent mental illness, Bojack is more relatable than any other character I’ve seen in recent memory. In more than one way.

When I first started watching Bojack last summer, I expected a Simpsons or Bob’s Burgers-esque romp through hilarity. What did I actually get? Some funny moments, but a lot of navel-gazing. I saw pieces of myself in Bojack that I’d never seen in any other show.

His pain, it was mine. His pain was what I was experiencing at that time.

I was going through a particularly painful depressive episode and while sometimes, watching the show was a bit triggering, including the very famous “Thoughts and Prayers” and “Time’s Arrow” episodes, it was refreshing to see such a flawed character just trying to overcome the terrible things he had experienced.

I may not have starred in a television show called “Horsin’ Around,” but I do know what it’s like to have a little voice in my head perpetually telling me that I’m a “piece of sh-t” and that I shouldn’t live anymore.

I may not have gone the drug route, but I have used sex and alcohol as unhealthy coping mechanisms for my debilitating depression and anxiety.

I have also treated my friends and family – and even my spouse at times – terribly, only to blame my surroundings and my illness for my missteps. My illness, my problems aren’t to blame; it’s me at the heart of it. It’s my problem to bear, my own to solve. Bojack struggles with this, but thankfully, my spouse will always call me out when I do this. Bojack has only ever been called out once, during a particularly poignant scene with his best friend and asexual icon, Todd who puts it quite well: “You can’t keep doing this! You can’t keep doing shitty things and then feel bad about yourself like that makes it okay! You need to be better!”

And when Bojack tries to retort, blaming stress and pressure or drinking, Todd continues: “You are all the things that are wrong with you. It’s not the alcohol, or the drugs, or any of the shitty things that happened to you in your career, or when you were a kid, it’s you. Alright? It’s you.”

The flashbacks to his sad childhood, the avoidance of anything and everything remotely trying to help him. The literal instance of trying to run away from his problems. It was all like looking in a mirror. He wanted to run away from his problems, his failed relationships, his disastrous life – anything and everything.

When Bojack decided he was going to try running  – literally away from his problems, a man (a baboon) that jogs past his house every day ended up giving up and collapsing. It was too hard. The man stops and tells him: “It gets easier. Every day it gets a little easier. But, you have to do it every day. That’s the hard part. But it does get easier.”

Being alive is hard. Living is harder.

Like Bojack, I have moments where I want to give it all up and just throw in the towel. Collapse on the ground and be finished. But I keep going. Like Bojack, I lost a friend to a complete and utter accident that I could’ve done nothing about. But I keep going. Like Bojack, I spend a lot of time feeling like I’m not good enough, like I’m worthless, like I don’t matter and I’m a “piece of sh-t.” But I keep going.

It sometimes does feel like it gets easier. But only sometimes. Sometimes, I feel like I’m running up a hill that will never end. Like Bojack, I also spend a lot of time pushing away the people I love and the people who care about me. But, they stick around.

My spouse has never left my side. Even through serious depressive episodes (and the worse ones that have come after). Through medication non-compliance, through hypomanic episodes (I have Bipolar II), through it all, my spouse is there. Just like Todd is for Bojack. Even if all Bojack wants is his house to himself again.

I never had a TV show, I never stole the D from the Hollywood sign, and I never had a drug named after me. But still, watching Bojack feels like looking in a mirror. And as painful as that image is sometimes, I’m grateful for it.