The Difference Between Fetishizing and Accepting your own Sadness

A few weeks ago, I started watching the series Bojack Horseman, and (shamefully) I’ve already gotten to Season 5. But rewind a few late-night Netflix binges to Season 3 Episode 10, and you’ll find an interesting scene with an even more interesting line; “Don’t fetishize your own sadness.” An homage to the theme of emotional masochism protrayed throughout the show, this line really got me thinking- do I fetishize my own sadness? Well, the short answer is, yeah, I do. This is why I don’t feel bad about it.

I’ve only heard the words “romanticize” and “fetishize” in relation to mental illness used in a negative sense. I’ve heard people get angry at those who make sadness look mysteriously beautiful. I’ve heard this said before, but I think this is something usually directed to people who don’t have mental illness, who don’t understand the pain and the suffering of it. But what about the people like me, who do have mental illness? Because I am genuinely diagnosed, does that give me the right to romanticize my own depression, because my depression is legitimate? It’s kind of like how when people make cancer jokes, it’s insensitive and distasteful, but when people with cancer make cancer jokes, they get kind of a pass. They can make cancer jokes because they know what that’s like, they’ve gained the right to make those jokes. As someone with depression, I think I’ve gained the right to approach my illness however I want, because my depression is real, my depression is mine. It’s not that I view being miserable as something desirable, but I do view it as being a large part of who I am. That doesn’t mean I want my entire identity to be that of a depressed, broken person, but I simply cannot change my identity, even if I wanted to. I have depression. I have attempted suicide. This is who I am. And to me, my identity needs to be ALL of who I am. Not just who I strive to be, but who I have been in this life so far. Depression was not something I wanted, it’s just something that happened. So yeah, depression, and my melancholy, broody nature in general, is a part of my identity. I don’t think it has anything to do with self-loathing or searching for pity though; I like my identity. It doesn’t make me sad that I am sad. I’m thoughtful. I’m artistic. I’m deep. As my father always told me, I’m soulful. The depression I’ve been through really has made me more complex and interesting. My satisfaction with being sad is not about making people feel sorry for me or pulling people down with me. It’s about appreciating all the good things that I wouldn’t have had without my depression. Even more so, it’s about embracing the fact that I’ve been sad, and that I still am sad, instead of running away from it. It’s being okay with the person I am. I feel like if I just left my mental illness in the past, and tried so hard to be happy, tried to pretend my mental illness had never happened, I’d be doing myself an injustice. I’d feel like I was ashamed of being depressed. I’d feel like I had to leave my depression behind because I was made to feel embarrassed over it.

So I guess to summarize, I have depression. And I get a lot of my inspiration from it. My mental illness has made me more empathetic towards others, more creative in the arts, a deeper thinker, and someone who is better able to read people and the complex emotions they possess. I don’t really mind being sad. I’m proud of the person I am today, and I wouldn’t be that person if it weren’t for the extreme and long-lasting sadness I’ve experienced. So, in my opinion, no, there is nothing wrong with finding pleasure in being sad. Because the truth is, experiencing some level of sadness in life is inevitable, especially in someone with a clinical disease that causes it. I might as well take the bull by the horns, reclaim my sadness as a gift, and enjoy it.