A cartoon about a talking horse delivered television’s most authentic depiction of mental illness. 
Yes, you read that correctly. 
From the get-go, “BoJack Horseman” isn’t afraid to dive into trauma. The ugliness of BoJack’s family history pierces through the screen, even into viewers’ hearts, as we witness BoJack’s mother’s abuse: “You were born broken, that's your birthright. And now, you can fill your life with projects... but it won't make you whole. You're BoJack Horseman. There's no cure for that.” As BoJack (Will Arnett) endeavors to find identity and fulfillment, the show invites us to travel into BoJack's mind and experience the evolution of his mental state. 
With its Hieronymus Bosch-like aesthetic, in a world where anthropomorphic animals and humans live harmoniously, animation illuminates BoJack’s volatile attitudes and behavior. In one scene, Lucy from “PEANUTS” appears as BoJack’s friend, offering her iconic psychiatric help as BoJack begs for affirmation that he’s in control of his improvement as a person (or horse, in this case). In a self-deprecating voice-over in which BoJack repeats the censure of his parents, reels splicing past and present show how BoJack lives haunted by his family’s cruelty. Just as a horse’s conflicts provide separation from human struggles, animation provides distance between art and life. Through imagery where colors assume emotional resonance, “BoJack” unravels the depth and mystery of the human psyche, capturing the reality of mental illness in a way live-action shows cannot match.
With viewers hooked on the visual storytelling, “BoJack” reels them in with an ardent exploration of self-improvement’s challenges and rewards. As BoJack irreparably ruins friendships in attempts to pursue superficial goals, such as writing a book or winning an Academy Award, he finds himself repeating his mother’s annihilating words and spiraling into substance abuse. What starts as Bojack’s pursuit of happiness turns into a grapple with his self-destructiveness. The show does not revel in watching BoJack suffer the devastating consequences of his actions. It chooses self-reflection instead. Ultimately, BoJack feels remorse for hurting his friends. He becomes sympathetic, ripe for accountability and growth. But, as viewers know, one cannot merely regret their actions and expect forgiveness — they must pair awareness of wrongdoings with good actions. BoJack discovers that personal development is arduous and that moral actions aren’t always rewarded. 
As BoJack alternates between progress and relapse, viewers remain on the edges of our seats. The writers understand that BoJack cannot magically become a new person without mental illness or trauma. Rather, they honor how BoJack must put himself on a path toward rehabilitation where he must constantly choose to do the right thing. Instead of romanticizing mental illness, “BoJack” portrays the truth at every turn. We need more shows like it.