I Want to Die But I Want to Eat Tteokbokki by Baek Sehee

When I first picked up Baek Sehee’s “I Want to Die But I Want to Eat Tteokbokki,” I’ll admit I was drawn in by the quirky title. I’m always on the lookout for books that tackle depression with a bit of humor. And tteokbokki? Those spicy Korean rice cakes are pretty darn irresistible. Little did I know I was in for such a raw, intimate journey into one woman’s battle with dysthymia and anxiety.

This isn’t your typical self-help book or memoir. Sehee, a young social media director at a publishing house in South Korea, structures the book around transcripts of her therapy sessions over a 12-week period. Between each session, she reflects on her progress (or lack thereof) in short, diary-like entries. The result is a brutally honest look at the day-to-day reality of living with depression—the small victories, the setbacks, and yes, the moments of craving comfort food like tteokbokki.

Peeling Back the Layers

From the very first session, it’s clear that Sehee is struggling. She describes feeling persistently low, anxious, and full of self-doubt. What struck me was how relatable her experiences felt. Like many high-functioning individuals with depression, Sehee is adept at hiding her inner turmoil from colleagues and friends. She performs the calm, put-together persona her lifestyle demands, all while feeling exhausted and overwhelmed inside.

As the sessions progress, Sehee and her psychiatrist begin to unpack the roots of her depression. We learn about her difficult childhood, marked by poverty and an emotionally abusive older sister. Sehee grapples with deep-seated feelings of inadequacy and a tendency to judge herself harshly. Her perfectionism and people-pleasing tendencies have left her unable to form deep relationships.

What I found fascinating was watching Sehee slowly gain insight into her patterns of thinking and behavior. With her psychiatrist’s guidance, she starts to recognize how her past traumas have shaped her present struggles. It’s not an easy process – there are plenty of moments where Sehee resists or deflects. But gradually, she begins to develop more self-awareness and compassion for herself.

A Cultural Lens on Mental Health

One aspect that sets ‘I Want to Die But I Want to Eat Tteokbokki’ apart is its exploration of mental health issues in a South Korean context. Sehee touches on the intense academic and career pressures faced by young people in Korea, as well as the stigma that still surrounds mental illness. There are moments where cultural differences become apparent – like when Sehee expresses shock that her psychiatrist conducts such long sessions, explaining that it’s not common practice in Korea.

At the same time, so much of Sehee’s experience feels universal. Her fears of being judged or rejected, her tendency to compare herself to others on social media—these are struggles many of us can relate to, regardless of cultural background. It’s a reminder that mental health challenges know no borders.

The Tteokbokki of it All

I can’t write this review without addressing the tteokbokki in the room. Throughout the book, Sehee returns to her craving for this popular Korean street food as a kind of touchstone. In moments of despair, when she feels utterly hopeless, she still finds herself yearning for a plate of spicy, chewy rice cakes.

At first, I wasn’t sure what to make of this recurring motif. Was it just a quirky title choice? But as I read on, I began to see the tteokbokki as a symbol of Sehee’s will to live, however faint it might be at times. It represents a small pleasure, a spark of desire in the midst of depression’s numbing fog. In a way, it’s Sehee’s subconscious reminding her that life still holds some appeal, even when her conscious mind is consumed by darkness.

A Messy, Non-Linear Journey

One thing I really appreciated about ‘I Want to Die But I Want to Eat Tteokbokki’ was its refusal to present a neat, tidy narrative of recovery. Sehee’s journey is messy and non-linear, full of ups and downs. There are breakthroughs followed by backslides. Some sessions feel productive, while others leave her feeling frustrated and stuck.

Healing isn’t a straight line – it’s more like a winding path with plenty of detours. Sehee doesn’t shy away from showing her not-so-pretty moments: the times she lashes out at loved ones, indulges in self-destructive behaviors, or feels tempted to quit therapy altogether.

By the end of the 12 weeks, Sehee hasn’t magically “cured” her depression. But she has made progress. She’s developed more self-awareness, learned some coping strategies, and taken small steps towards changing long-held patterns. Most importantly, she’s started to chip away at the self-hatred that’s been weighing her down for so long.

Not Your Typical Self-Help

I have to say, I Want to Die But I Want to Eat Tteokbokki was refreshing to read a mental health memoir that doesn’t try to offer easy solutions or inspirational platitudes. Sehee isn’t doling out advice or presenting herself as some kind of role model. She’s simply sharing her experience, warts and all, in hopes that it might resonate with others who are struggling.

That’s not to say the book isn’t helpful. I found myself nodding along to many of Sehee’s revelations, jotting down insights that felt particularly relevant to my own journey. But it never feels preachy or prescriptive. It’s more like sitting in on someone else’s therapy sessions and gleaning what you can from their process.

A Word on Style and Translation

I should note that I read this book in translation (the excellent work of Anton Hur). Sehee’s voice comes through as candid and often darkly humorous. There’s a conversational quality to her writing that made me feel like I was listening to a friend confide in me over coffee.

The structure of alternating therapy transcripts and personal reflections keeps things engaging. I never felt bogged down in heavy psychological jargon. Instead, the back-and-forth between Sehee and her psychiatrist creates a natural rhythm, punctuated by moments of introspection.

Who Should Read This Book?

Obviously, I’d recommend ‘I Want to Die But I Want to Eat Tteokbokki’ to anyone dealing with depression or anxiety. Sehee’s honesty about her struggles is validating, and her small steps towards healing offer a glimmer of hope without feeling unrealistic.

But I also think it’s a valuable read for those who want to better understand what it’s like to live with these conditions. Sehee does an excellent job of articulating the often contradictory thoughts and feelings that come with depression. It could be eye-opening for friends and family members of those battling mental health issues.

Finally, I’d suggest this book to anyone interested in therapy or the process of self-discovery. Watching Sehee gradually unpack her past and gain insight into her patterns is fascinating, regardless of your own mental health status.

A Few Caveats

I should mention that the book does touch on some heavy topics, including suicidal thoughts and self-harm. While never graphic, these sections could be triggering for some readers. Sehee is also quite hard on herself at times, and some of her negative self-talk might be difficult for those in a fragile mental state.

Additionally, this is very much one person’s individual experience with therapy and depression. What works for Sehee may not work for everyone. It’s important to remember that mental health journeys are deeply personal and there’s no one-size-fits-all approach.

Final Thoughts

“I Want to Die But I Want to Eat Tteokbokki” is not an easy read, but it’s an important one. Baek Sehee has given us a gift: an unflinchingly honest look at the daily reality of living with depression. It’s a book that destigmatizes mental health struggles and reminds us of our shared humanity.

As I turned the final page, I felt a complex mix of emotions – sadness for Sehee’s pain, hope for her progress, and gratitude for her willingness to share her story. And yes, I’ll admit it—I had a pretty intense craving for tteokbokki. Sometimes, in the midst of life’s challenges, it’s the small pleasures that keep us going. A warm, spicy bite of rice cake. A moment of connection. A reminder that we’re not alone in our struggles.

Sehee’s debut memoir may not offer neat solutions or a Hollywood ending. But it does something equally valuable: it bears witness to the messy, complicated reality of being human. And sometimes, that’s exactly the kind of story we need.