Narrator: What does it mean to feel the crushing weight of wanting to disappear from the world, and in the very next moment, feel a simple, mundane craving for a spicy rice cake dish? This is not a fleeting mood swing, but a persistent, disorienting state of being—a gray fog where profound despair and the ordinary desires of life exist side by side. It is a space of feeling not quite fine, but not completely devastated either, a contradiction that can be deeply isolating.

This perplexing emotional landscape is the subject of Baek Sehee’s candid and vulnerable book, I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki. The book is a raw, unfiltered record of her therapy sessions for dysthymia, or persistent depressive disorder. It serves as a guide through the subtle, often-overlooked nuances of a mind grappling with a gentle but constant ache, offering a profound look into the journey of understanding and learning to live with one's own darkness.

Narrator: The book’s central theme is its exploration of dysthymia, a form of chronic, low-grade depression that often evades diagnosis because it lacks the dramatic peaks and valleys of major depressive disorder. The author, Baek Sehee, describes this state with poignant accuracy. She writes, “I wasn’t deathly depressed, but I wasn’t happy either, floating instead in some feeling between the two.” This is the core of her experience: a persistent, underlying sadness that coexists with the ability to function, laugh at jokes, and go to work.

This condition is baffling not only to others but to the person experiencing it. Baek feels a constant need to justify her feelings, to prove that her suffering is real, even when it does not fit the stereotypical image of depression. The title itself perfectly captures this paradox. The desire for death and the desire for tteokbokki are not mutually exclusive; they are two sides of the same coin, representing the simultaneous presence of deep existential pain and the simple, life-affirming pull of everyday comforts. The book gives a name and a voice to this often-invisible struggle, validating the experiences of those who feel adrift in the emotional space between utter despair and genuine happiness.

Narrator: Through her therapy sessions, Baek traces the origins of her profound low self-esteem and anxiety back to her formative years. Her childhood was not a single traumatic event but a slow, steady erosion of self-worth. She recounts painful memories that illustrate this, such as the shame she felt when a friend's mother asked if her family lived in the smaller or larger apartment complex, a simple question that highlighted her family's poverty and made her feel inadequate.

This was compounded by a volatile home environment, where she witnessed her father’s physical abuse toward her mother and sisters, creating a climate of fear and secrecy. Perhaps most damaging was the relationship with her older sister. Her sister’s love was conditional, tied to Baek’s academic performance, weight, and obedience. Material gifts like clothes and shoes were used as tools of manipulation, with the constant threat that they would be taken back if she failed to comply. These experiences taught her that love was something to be earned and that her inherent worth was negligible, creating a deep-seated belief that she was fundamentally flawed.

Narrator: Baek’s low self-esteem manifests in an exhausting and obsessive habit of self-surveillance. She is constantly watching herself, judging her every word and action from the perspective of an imagined critical audience. This fear of judgment is so intense that she records her conversations and meetings to analyze her performance later, searching for any misstep or sign of inadequacy.

This behavior is rooted in a deep-seated fear of how others perceive her, a fear that was solidified by childhood bullying. She recalls being teased for her eczema, with one boy refusing to hold her hand during a dance activity, making her feel "disgusting, ugly, and like a freak." In middle school, anonymous insults about her appearance were posted on an online forum. These experiences created a state of hyper-vigilance, where she is always monitoring her appearance and behavior to avoid criticism. Her psychiatrist identifies this as a form of "faking bad," a cognitive distortion where she perceives herself as much worse off than she is, trapped in a cycle of seeking external validation that can never be satisfied.

Narrator: The author’s struggles with self-worth deeply impact her relationships, which are often characterized by co-dependency and a pattern her psychiatrist calls the "hedgehog's dilemma." This concept describes the contradictory desire for intimacy while also wanting to keep others at a distance to avoid getting hurt. Baek craves connection and feels stable when she is dependent on a partner, but this dependence inevitably breeds resentment.

Furthermore, she engages in black-and-white thinking, where a single negative interaction can cause her to deem a person entirely bad and cut them out of her life. She describes a falling out with a new friend after the friend offered a mild critique of a book Baek had recommended. Baek’s immediate reaction was to feel personally attacked and to send a harsh, relationship-ending message. It is only through therapy that she recognizes this extreme pattern. Her psychiatrist encourages her to see people in shades of gray, to understand that a person is not defined by a single action, and to differentiate the parts of a person from the whole.

Narrator: A core anxiety driving much of Baek's behavior is her intense desire to be seen as special and her corresponding fear of being ordinary. This fear is so potent that it leads her to lie or exaggerate stories to make herself seem more interesting, unique, or worthy of sympathy. She recounts a story from an internship where, ashamed of never having traveled overseas, she lied to her boss and claimed she had been to Japan. The rest ofthe meal was spent in a state of high anxiety, terrified she would be asked for details.

This desire is not about arrogance but stems from a belief that she must be exceptional to be worthy of love and attention. Her psychiatrist helps her see that this desire is, ironically, not special at all, but a common human feeling. The therapy encourages her to shift her focus from seeking external validation to fulfilling her own true desires and to measure her progress against her past self, not against others.

Narrator: The book is ultimately a testament to the therapeutic process and the power of self-awareness. While there is no magical cure, Baek’s journey demonstrates that healing is possible through the difficult work of confronting one's own patterns. Her psychiatrist plays a crucial role, not by providing easy answers, but by acting as a mirror, reflecting Baek’s cognitive distortions back to her. He encourages her to practice self-compassion and to challenge her idealized, unrealistic standards.

A key moment of progress is when the psychiatrist tells her, "These were all behaviours you had no awareness of until recently, and to make the realisation that you always make the same choices is, in itself, proof you’re getting better." This reframes her self-criticism into a sign of progress. The goal of therapy is not to become a perfect, happy person, but to become a person who understands her own incompleteness and can navigate it with greater kindness and wisdom.

Narrator: The single most important takeaway from I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki is that healing is not the eradication of darkness, but the acceptance of its coexistence with light. Baek Sehee’s journey shows that it is possible to hold contradictory feelings—profound sadness and a simple craving for life's small joys—and that this complexity is not a sign of being broken, but of being human.

The book’s real-world impact lies in its power to destigmatize the quieter, more pervasive forms of depression and to foster empathy for those who are struggling in ways that are not always visible. It leaves the reader with a vital challenge: to look at both ourselves and others with more compassion, to recognize that progress is rarely a straight line, and to find the courage to be honest about the times we feel like we are floating somewhere in the gray area, wanting to give up but also, just maybe, wanting some tteokbokki.