It is a weirdly specific feeling. You are spiraling. Everything feels heavy, gray, and fundamentally "wrong." Then, you smell something spicy or see a photo of a specific comfort food, and suddenly, you’re hungry. You feel guilty for being hungry because you’re supposed to be miserable, right? That paradox is the entire soul of Baek Se-hee’s memoir. I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki isn't just a book with a catchy, meme-able title. It’s a raw, uncomfortable, and deeply human look at dysthymia.
Most mental health books feel like they’re written from the finish line. They tell you how the author "overcame" their demons and found the light. Baek Se-hee doesn't do that. Honestly, she stays in the trenches with you throughout the whole thing.
The Reality of High-Functioning Depression
People often think depression means you can't get out of bed. Sometimes it does. But for many, it’s a low-grade, constant hum of dissatisfaction called dysthymia, or Persistent Depressive Disorder. You go to work. You see friends. You laugh at jokes. But underneath, there is this gnawing void.
Baek Se-hee was a successful social media director at a publishing house. On paper, she was doing fine. In reality, she was obsessed with how others perceived her. She felt like a shell. The book is structured mostly as transcripts between her and her psychiatrist. It’s voyeuristic in a way that feels almost intrusive, but that's why it works. You see the circular logic of a depressed mind. You see the therapist's patient—and sometimes slightly clinical—responses.
The "tteokbokki" in the title represents the tether to life. It’s a popular Korean street food—chewy rice cakes in a spicy, sweet sauce. It’s cheap, it’s nostalgic, and it’s delicious. The fact that she could want to disappear but still crave a snack is the ultimate proof of the complexity of the human will. We are rarely 100% one thing. We are messy.
Why Korea (and the West) Obsessed Over It
When the book first came out, it was a sleeper hit that turned into a juggernaut. It sold over 500,000 copies in South Korea alone. Why? Because Korean society is high-pressure. It’s a "hustle culture" on steroids. Admitting you’re struggling is often seen as a weakness, or worse, a burden to the group.
Then, BTS’s RM was spotted with the book. That was the spark. Suddenly, the "Tteokbokki Book" was everywhere. It gave people permission to talk about the "shadow" parts of their lives.
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In the West, the English translation by Anton Hur captured the same lightning in a bottle. We live in an era of performative wellness. We’re told to "self-care" our way out of systemic burnout. Reading someone who is just trying to survive the next hour without losing their mind is incredibly validating.
Breaking Down Dysthymia
Dysthymia isn't a "shorter" version of depression. It’s chronic.
- It lasts for at least two years.
- It feels like a "base setting" of sadness.
- It often involves low self-esteem and "analysis paralysis."
Baek Se-hee describes it as feeling "dim." Not dark. Dim. You can still see, but everything is just a little harder to navigate. She talks about the "fine" moments that are immediately followed by a wave of self-loathing for feeling fine. It's an exhausting cycle.
The Therapy Transcripts: No Easy Answers
If you’re looking for a "10 steps to happiness" guide, put this book down. You won't find it here. The dialogue is repetitive. Baek asks the same questions. She seeks reassurance and then rejects it when she gets it.
This is the most "human" part of the writing. Real healing is boring. It’s repetitive. It’s frustrating. There are chapters where she focuses entirely on her appearance and her need for external validation. It makes her unlikeable to some readers. But that’s the point. Mental illness doesn't make you a saint; it makes you human, flaws and all.
The psychiatrist in the book provides a grounding force. He identifies her "all-or-nothing" thinking. He points out how she filters out the positive and only hoards the negative. It’s a textbook look at Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) in action, even if it feels like slow progress.
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The Power of Small Pleasures
The central theme of I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki is the survival value of the mundane. When the big things—career, love, purpose—feel like they’re collapsing, the small things hold the line.
- A spicy meal.
- The warmth of a blanket.
- A fleeting conversation with a stranger.
- The simple act of buying a book.
These aren't cures. They are anchors.
The Nuance of Translation
We have to talk about Anton Hur. Translating a book about mental health requires more than just swapping words. You have to translate the vibe of the sadness. In Korean, the tone is deeply personal and slightly conversational. Hur managed to keep that "inner monologue" feel.
There is a specific word in the book that comes up often: ma-eum. It roughly translates to "heart" or "mind," but it’s more about the "soul-center." When Baek talks about her ma-eum being exhausted, it hits differently than just saying "I'm tired."
Addressing the Critics
Not everyone likes this book. Some critics argue it’s too self-indulgent. They say it lacks a narrative arc because she doesn't "get better" in the traditional sense.
But that critique misses the reality of the condition. Dysthymia is a marathon, not a sprint. The "arc" is the fact that she’s still here, still eating, still writing. The lack of a tidy ending is arguably the most honest thing about the entire memoir. It acknowledges that for many of us, mental health is a managed state, not a cured one.
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What You Can Actually Do With This
If you find yourself resonating with the title, you’re not "crazy." You’re likely experiencing a disconnect between your internal state and your physical needs.
First, stop punishing yourself for having a physical appetite when your emotional appetite is zero. Eating that tteokbokki (or pizza, or chocolate) isn't "faking" your sadness. It’s your body trying to keep you going.
Second, look into the concept of "Middle Ground." Baek Se-hee struggles with seeing the world in black and white. You’re either a success or a failure. You’re either happy or suicidal. Part of the work is finding the "gray." You can be sad and still enjoy a movie. You can be depressed and still be a good friend. These things can coexist.
Third, consider documenting your own "transcripts." You don't have to publish them. But seeing your thoughts on paper—the circular logic, the "shoulds," the self-criticism—makes them easier to dismantle.
Tangible Steps for Dark Days
- Identify your "Tteokbokki": What is the one small thing that still tastes good or feels okay when everything else sucks? Hold onto it.
- Acknowledge the "Dimness": Stop trying to turn the lights all the way up instantly. Just try to find a slightly less dark corner.
- Talk to a Professional: The book is a great companion, but it’s not a substitute for the chair across from a therapist.
- Read the Sequel: Yes, there is a second book. It continues the journey, proving again that "better" is a moving target.
Baek Se-hee gave a voice to the millions of people who are "fine" but not really. She showed that wanting to die and wanting to eat are two parts of the same complicated person. And honestly? That's enough for now.
Actionable Insight: Start by recognizing your "all-or-nothing" thoughts today. When you catch yourself saying "I always fail" or "Everything is ruined," try to find one tiny exception. Even if it's just the fact that you enjoyed your lunch for five minutes. That exception is where the healing starts.