So Sad Today by Melissa Broder Summary

So Sad Today is a collection of brutally honest personal essays exploring anxiety, depression, addiction, and existential dread through topics like marriage, polyamory, fetishes, and self-esteem. Melissa Broder blends dark humor with raw vulnerability, dissecting modern struggles with mental health and identity while reflecting on her anonymous Twitter account @sosadtoday, which gained a cult following for its relatable despair.

This book resonates with readers seeking unflinching narratives about mental health, taboo desires, and the chaos of modern existence. It’s ideal for fans of confessional memoirs like The Lonely City or Hyperbole and a Half, particularly those who appreciate dark humor and candid discussions of addiction, relationships, and existential anxiety.

Yes, for its fearless exploration of universal insecurities and witty, poetic prose. Broder’s essays transcend self-help clichés, offering validation for anyone grappling with anxiety or self-doubt. However, readers sensitive to graphic descriptions of disordered eating, sexual kinks, or emotional turbulence may find it overwhelming.

Broder draws directly from her lifelong anxiety, panic attacks, and marital struggles, infusing essays with visceral details like her childhood hypochondria (“a sprained ankle meant amputation”) and adult obsession with existential texting voids. Her anonymous Twitter feed @sosadtoday became a diary for unfiltered despair, later expanded into these essays.

The book tackles anorexia, antidepressant reliance, suicidal ideation, and the “committee in your head trying to kill you”—a metaphor for obsessive negative thoughts. Broder dissects how anxiety manifests in relationships, body image, and daily rituals, offering no easy solutions but solidarity in shared suffering.

Broder critiques monogamy norms through her open marriage and erotic fixations, like a vomit fetish. Essays explore emotional dependency, sexting obsessions, and the paradox of craving intimacy while fearing vulnerability. Her blunt prose deconstructs how loneliness persists even in connection.

• “Under the anxiety is sadness, but who would go under there?”
• “Everything is shit! Time to act impulsively. But first, let’s catalog everything wrong with your life.”

These lines capture Broder’s mix of poetic melancholy and self-aware humor, reflecting the internal chaos of anxiety.

Broder uses absurdist wit (“honk if there’s a committee in your head trying to kill you”) to offset despair, balancing grotesque admissions (e.g., hospital erotica) with relatable metaphors. This tonal contrast mirrors the irrationality of mental illness, making heavy topics digestible.

Some readers find Broder’s vulgarity (e.g., explicit fetish details) alienating or self-indulgent. Critics argue the essays prioritize shock over resolution, leaving emotional wounds exposed but unhealed. Others praise this rawness as a mirror to unspoken struggles.

Unlike structured guides (e.g., The Noonday Demon), Broder offers fragmented, lyrical vignettes closer to Samantha Irby’s humor or Anne Carson’s poetry. It avoids prescriptive advice, focusing instead on communal catharsis through shared vulnerability.

The book’s themes of digital loneliness (“waiting for the universe to text back”) and performative wellness resonate in an era of social media curation. Its unvarnished take on mental health counters toxic positivity, appealing to Gen Z and millennial readers.

The anonymously launched account (2012) let Broder voice darkest thoughts without stigma, amassing followers who saw their struggles reflected in tweets like “sad today.” The book expands these fragments into deeper narratives, bridging viral relatability and literary depth.