So Sad Today reads as an autobiographical romp through Broder’s inbox and psyche. A chapter will relay an entire romantic relationship with a stranger that played out via slightly surreal sext messages. Another chapter outlines her fetish for vomiting and another details her history of having panic attacks. It reminds me of Elizabeth Wurtzel’s famous novel Prozac Nation – a slightly self indulgent but poignant meditation on mental illness littered with dark humour and pscyho-babble, and at other times, a deeply comforting and necessary read for anyone who has ever experienced anxiety, addiction or depression.

Whether you’re a fan of the divisive @SoSadToday or not, it's interesting to hear from Broder because she is warm, open and animated – hardly synonymous with her internet persona. “That character is just a part of me,” she tells me over the phone from LA. For the sum of Broder’s parts, I called her up to ask why she decided to unleash total honesty in her writing, what the response has been like, and how it feels to be tethered to a Twitter account.

So Sad Today is an extremely intimate memoir. Were there ever moments when you were writing the book and thought, ‘maybe I shouldn’t put this in’?

I lived in New York for 10 years and I would always type my poems on my phone when I was on the subway. But then, when I moved to LA, I was always driving, so I began speaking into my phone. The voice became more conversational, I wasn’t doing line breaks any more and I didn’t think about how people were going to be reading it.

It was only after the advanced copies came out that I realised all of this information was going to be out there. The chapter that I felt most scared about was the vomit fetish chapter... Like if a former boss or my aunt is reading that I just want to rip it out of the book. I’m not saying the essays are like diary entries, because I made a lot of edits, but I couldn’t write it if I didn’t do it as truthfully as I did. Emotional safety, to me, meant honesty and trying not to put on a mask.

Who would you least like to read the book?

My parents... they’re the only people I told they’re not allowed to read it. A parent shouldn’t know everything about their child.

Did you think about the audience, or were you writing for yourself?

I must be a very self-centred person, but so much of my creative work starts as a necessity to save my own life. The Twitter feed started when I was having a harrowing cycle of panic attacks that wouldn’t abate for months and all the things I tried – drugs and alcohol, a psychiatrist, medication, meditation, therapy – they weren’t enough. So I started the Twitter to throw this stuff I was experiencing into the void and use creativity as a coping tool.

In one essay I wrote for a VICE column I had, I talk about a Danish writer who says depression is like having antlers – your thoughts are overgrown for your mind. Poetry makes me feel like I can alchemise that energy. You can feel so alone in your anxiety and totally powerless, but writing gives me a sense of meaning and control over something I have no control over. So I’ve never written to save lives or to help other people but I think when you’re really honest, that can be a nice side effect.