Episode 10: I'd still go to Itaewon that day — an ode to staying alive and remembering

*The series is based on the real-life experience of Kim Nam-young, a JoongAng Ilbo reporter currently living with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). The following articles are written from Kim’s first-person perspective.

To Readers

I have PTSD.

As a reporter on the social affairs desk, I covered the Itaewon disaster on Oct. 29, 2022. Since November of the following year, I have been receiving treatment regularly. I attend psychiatric counseling sessions and take medication every day.

I am only revealing the illness now, more than two years later, not because I have overcome it. This is not a story about recovery, but a record of living through the illness. To be honest, I still do not know when, or if, I will overcome it.

Instead, I want to talk about the time I have spent living alongside PTSD. Even now, I continue to work as a policy and social affairs reporter while exercising, traveling and going on with daily life.

If someone is hesitant to see a doctor, I hope this piece helps. I also hope we can become a society where people do not feel forced to hide emotional pain and trauma.

Stay alive. Cling to even the smallest straw — and remember my name.

Those are the lyrics from duo AKMU's "Fish in the Water” (2019).

For the past two and a half years, this was the song I turned to whenever I found myself asking, "Why should I keep living?"

I had always wondered what AKMU meant by saying we should hold on to even the smallest straw just to stay alive. I think I finally understand.

It was so that I could remember you — the people in Itaewon in October 2022. Simply staying alive has become my way of remembering you that day.

In some ways, I think developing PTSD after the Itaewon disaster in 2022 was inevitable.

If you suffer from a condition that traps you in the past, forgetting is no longer an option.

At first, I tried everything I could to erase my memories of the disaster. I believed that was how I would overcome the illness.

I don't think that way anymore. Instead, I've chosen to live with those memories. I've come to accept that they are part of me and part of my life.

Once I accepted this "cohabitation," it became a little easier to breathe.

Then I found myself hoping that other people, too, would find something — even the smallest straw — to hold on to. That's what led me to begin this series.

What changes after a disaster

On June 1, I visited Seongsu-dong in Seongdong District, eastern Seoul.

It was my day off. So I went to a Pokémon event, excited to enjoy the day. But then fear began to creep in as enormous crowds gathered early that morning.

The narrow alleys packed with people immediately reminded me of Itaewon in October 2022. I later learned that around 40,000 people had gathered in that small Seongsu-dong neighborhood.

After making my way out of the crowd, I found my phone filled with messages from people worried about my safety. Fortunately, police stepped in quickly, the event was called off early, and no one was hurt.

Whenever I see situations like this brought under control before they become tragedies, I can't help but feel that my own sense of safety is returning, little by little.

Perhaps, as I gradually regain trust that the system will step in before a dangerous situation turns into a disaster, I'll also begin to feel grounded again.

A sense of safety is not created by an individual's state of mind alone. It also depends on how society remembers disasters.

Not long ago, a politician running in the local elections apologized for making offensive remarks about the Sewol ferry disaster. The politician had previously said that the special investigation commission on the Sewol disaster was "doing nothing but wasting taxpayers' money."

Whether that apology was sincere is another matter. Still, the fact that an apology was made at all felt like a small step forward. I hope we see more moments like that.

Why I decided to write this series

While undergoing treatment for PTSD, I kept writing. They were private journal entries that no one else would read.

After getting through October 2025 without any major setbacks, I began to think it might be worth writing about the importance of sticking with treatment and continuing to see a psychiatrist.

The title, "Living with PTSD," came from imagining an unwelcome person who follows you all the way home.

The original title was "Working with PTSD," but I changed it because PTSD refuses to leave you alone, not only at work but also at home.

It did, however, take me a long time before I finally decided to publish this series.

I was worried that the moment I admitted I had PTSD, people would see me differently than they had before. I feared they would think of me as someone weak, someone broken, or someone still trapped in that day.

Still, I decided to go ahead because I realized that my own suffering could become the very evidence of the day that I lived.

I also wanted to tell anyone struggling to get through each day, as though they were walking across shattered glass, that there is nothing shameful about seeking psychiatric care.

I have read countless books about PTSD, including "The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, Body in the Healing of Trauma" (2015), "Truth and Repair: How Trauma Survivors Enivision Justice" (2023), "If We Stay Beside Those in Pain" (2023, translated) and "A Guide to Using Psychiatry by a Specialist" (2024, translated).

I quoted the parts I found necessary throughout this series. Although it is not directly about PTSD, I also read "High-Functioning Depression: Overcome Your Hidden Depression and Reclaim Your Joy” (2025).

I also received help from mental health professionals. The reason I did not write extensively about psychotherapy in this series is simply that I have not experienced it myself. It is not because I distrust counseling. I only hope this series helps others understand PTSD a little better.

As the series continued, I saw many people come forward and share that they, too, are seeing a psychiatrist. I was glad to think it had given people who had kept their struggles to themselves the chance to open up.

Many also asked what it was like to go to a psychiatric clinic. Since I am not a medical professional, I can only say that if something feels wrong, you should see a doctor.

If this series made it even a little easier for someone to walk into a psychiatric clinic, then I'm grateful.

I am still living with PTSD

When I wake up, I have a simple breakfast and take my morning medication. Then I get ready for work. After I come home, I usually play games or watch YouTube. Before going to bed, I take my medication again.

I also carry emergency medication in my work bag in case my symptoms become overwhelming while I am away from home.

In fact, while writing the first installment of this series, I had to take that emergency medication twice. Writing down those memories placed a heavy emotional burden on me.

Whenever I travel, whether for work or for pleasure, I pack enough medication for the trip, plus a couple of extra days' worth.

But I no longer hide it away in a bulky pouch.

I visit the doctor’s once or twice a month, usually on my days off. Lately, most of my conversations with my doctor have been about this series. My doctor has been an enormous help, not only by encouraging me to write but also by providing much of the medical guidance behind these articles.

And I am still living with PTSD.

While even an apartment lease eventually comes to an end, I have no idea when this living arrangement with PTSD will.

There was a time when I desperately wanted to force PTSD out of my life. Now I simply try to live with it as peacefully as I can. Believing that it will leave on its own someday has made it easier to accept.

I cannot remember exactly when, but someone once asked me whether I would still go to Itaewon if I could return to that day knowing everything that would happen afterward, including the fact that I would develop PTSD.

I still ask myself that question from time to time.

So far, my answer has always been yes.

Even if my mind has been permanently rewired, even if I continue to struggle with severe depression, I am still holding on to countless little moments so that I can remember the people I saw that day.

I still find myself asking, "Why should I keep living?" from time to time.

Whenever that question returns, I again reach for something to grab onto.

And I choose to stay alive so that I can remember the names from that day.

I hope you will, too.

This marks the end of the "Living with PTSD: A Reporter's Story After Itaewon" series. If you'd like to see where it all began, start with "Episode 1: Trapped in the past, diseased in quiet."

BY KIM NAM-YOUNG [[email protected]]