Sometimes you’re just sad. Not "I lost my job" sad or "my partner left me" sad, but a weird, lingering grey cloud that doesn't really go away. That’s the core of I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki. It’s a book about the middle ground. It isn't a story of extreme trauma or a dramatic recovery. Instead, Baek Sehee gives us something much more uncomfortable: the reality of living with high-functioning depression, specifically dysthymia.
It’s an odd title. Honestly, it sounds a bit clickbaity if you don't know the context. But for anyone who has ever felt a deep, existential dread while simultaneously craving a spicy snack from a street vendor, it makes perfect sense. Life is messy. You can feel like the world is ending and still want lunch.
The book is basically a transcript. It’s a series of recorded conversations between Baek and her psychiatrist. No fluff. No flowery metaphors about "the light at the end of the tunnel." Just a woman trying to figure out why she feels like a shell of a person even when things are technically fine.
The Rise of the "Hon-Bap" Generation and Dysthymia
When Baek Sehee released this book in South Korea, it didn't just sell; it exploded. Why? Because South Korea has one of the highest suicide rates in the OECD, yet talking about mental health is still a massive taboo in many circles. There's this relentless pressure to perform, to look perfect, and to be "productive."
Baek talks about dysthymia, or persistent depressive disorder. It’s not the kind of depression that keeps you in bed for weeks—though it can. It’s more like a low-grade fever of the soul. You go to work. You see friends. You laugh at jokes. But inside, there’s this constant, nagging feeling of "what’s the point?"
She captures the exhaustion of "performing" happiness. You’ve probably felt it. That moment when you’re out at a dinner, everyone is laughing, and you suddenly feel like you’re watching a movie of your own life from ten rows back. You’re there, but you’re not there.
Why the Tteokbokki Metaphor Works
Tteokbokki is comfort food. It’s spicy, chewy rice cakes. It’s cheap, it’s red, and it’s everywhere in Seoul.
The title I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki highlights the absurdity of the human brain. We are capable of holding two completely contradictory thoughts at the exact same time. We can feel a desire for non-existence and a desire for a specific flavor of sauce.
It’s a rejection of the idea that "real" depression looks like a person weeping in a dark room. Sometimes depression looks like a person standing in line at a food stall, wondering if they should get the extra side of fried dumplings.
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The Doctor-Patient Dynamic
The book is structured around 12 weeks of therapy. It’s raw. Baek doesn't try to make herself look good. She talks about being petty. She talks about being obsessed with her appearance. She talks about her deep-seated need for validation from strangers.
One of the most striking things is how the psychiatrist responds. He isn't some all-knowing guru. He’s clinical, sometimes even a bit dry. He challenges her. When she says she feels like a loser, he asks her to define what a "winner" even looks like.
He introduces concepts like cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) patterns without calling them that in a boring, textbook way. They talk about:
- All-or-nothing thinking: The idea that if you aren't perfect, you're a total failure.
- Emotional reasoning: Feeling like because you feel ugly, you actually are ugly.
- External validation: The trap of letting other people's opinions dictate your self-worth.
It’s helpful because you see the progress—or lack thereof. Some weeks are better. Some weeks she regresses. It’s a realistic portrayal of the "two steps forward, one step back" nature of therapy.
The Global "K-Mending" Movement
We've seen K-Pop and K-Dramas take over the world. Now, we’re seeing "K-Mending" or Korean healing literature. This book paved the way for others like I’ll Give You the Rabbit’s Ear or Days at the Morisaki Bookshop.
There is a specific brand of melancholy in this literature. It’s called Han. It’s a uniquely Korean concept that translates roughly to a collective feeling of grief or resentment mixed with hope.
I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki resonated globally because that pressure isn't just a Korean thing anymore. Whether you’re in New York, London, or Tokyo, the "hustle culture" is killing us. We are all burnt out. We are all scrolling through Instagram seeing people living "perfect" lives while we’re eating leftovers in our pajamas feeling like failures.
Breaking the Stigma of "Not Sad Enough"
A lot of people don't seek help because they think their problems aren't "bad enough." They aren't homeless. They aren't in physical pain. They have a job.
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Baek Sehee kills that myth.
She shows that you are allowed to struggle even if your life looks good on paper. Suffering isn't a competition. You don't need a "good reason" to feel depressed. Sometimes the brain's chemistry just doesn't cooperate.
The book is a permission slip. It says: "Hey, it’s okay to be a bit of a mess. It’s okay to be functional and miserable. It’s okay to seek help even if you think you’re just being dramatic."
Critical Reception and Nuance
Not everyone loves this book. Some critics argue it’s too navel-gazing. They say it lacks a traditional narrative arc. And they're right—it doesn't have a climax or a tidy ending.
But that’s kind of the point.
Therapy doesn't end with a "The End" screen. You don't just "get fixed" and never feel sad again. You just learn how to manage the sadness better. You learn how to recognize the patterns before they swallow you whole.
The book's simplicity is its strength. It’s a quick read, but it stays with you. It makes you look at your own "tteokbokki"—whatever that small thing is that keeps you tethered to the world when everything else feels heavy.
Practical Takeaways from Baek Sehee's Journey
If you’re reading this because you feel like Baek, there are a few things you can actually do. This isn't medical advice—go see a professional for that—but these are the themes that emerge from the text:
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Stop the "Shadow Boxing"
Baek spends a lot of time fighting imaginary versions of people in her head. She assumes people are judging her. The psychiatrist reminds her that most people are too busy worrying about their own "tteokbokki" to think about her.
Accept the "Grey"
We live in a world of extremes. Black or white. Good or bad. Happy or depressed. The book pushes for the "grey." You can be 40% happy and 60% sad and that is a valid way to exist.
Identify Your Comforts
What is your tteokbokki? Is it a specific song? A walk in a specific park? A video game? Recognize those tiny anchors. They matter. They aren't "distractions"—they are survival tools.
Record Your Thoughts
The book exists because Baek recorded her sessions. You don't have to write a bestseller, but journaling or recording voice memos can help you see patterns you miss when the thoughts are just bouncing around your skull.
Next Steps for Mental Wellbeing
If the themes in I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki hit home, don't just sit with that feeling. Use the book as a starting point.
- Seek out "Low-Intensity" Support: If traditional therapy feels too scary or expensive, look into support groups or reputable mental health apps that focus on CBT.
- Audit Your Social Media: If seeing "perfect" lives makes you feel like Baek, hit the unfollow button. Curate your feed to include reality, not just highlights.
- Read the Sequel: Yes, there is a second book. It continues the sessions and explores the aftermath of the first book's success, proving that even fame doesn't "cure" the underlying feelings.
- Talk to a Friend—Honestly: Next time someone asks how you are, try being 10% more honest. You don't have to dump your whole soul, but saying "I'm actually feeling a bit overwhelmed lately" can break the ice of isolation.
The beauty of this memoir is that it doesn't offer a cure. It offers companionship. It’s a reminder that you aren't the only one who feels like a functional disaster. And sometimes, knowing that is enough to get you through to your next meal.
Actionable Insight: Start a "Small Joys" list. Not big goals, just small things—like the smell of fresh coffee or a clean pair of socks. When the "I want to die" thoughts get loud, focus exclusively on the "tteokbokki" on your list. It sounds small, but as Baek Sehee shows us, small things are often what save us.