High-functioning depression [Our story for Tuesday]

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Something is wrong with the earth.

Whenever environmental issues came up in the media, I used to change the channel before the segment even got going — it always felt stale and predictable. That was true until a few years ago. Lately, though, I find myself genuinely worried, because it has started to feel real.

"Don't you find it hard to breathe?"

My manager — sweat running down his sideburns — had his face buried so deep in his bowl of naengmyeon that he eventually just lifted the whole thing and worked his throat furiously.

"God, seriously. I know it's summer, but this heat is insane. Forty degrees — how does that even make sense?"

He set the bowl down, let out a short belch, wiped the moisture from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked at me.

"But it always passes fast, you know? Same every year. Give it a little while and everyone will be complaining about the cold. You know our earnings are good this year, right? If you want a warm winter, you've got to put in the work now. I'm counting on you."

It was simply his way — once he finished eating, he got up. He patted my shoulder with the same hand he had used to wipe his mouth and headed back to the office. The ongoing project clearly mattered more to him than the state of the planet.

Fair enough. Same for me.

The large project wrapping up at the end of this year was the highest-sales deal my manager had ever closed, and whether I delivered on the expectations that came with being assigned as the key project manager would determine my salary and profit-sharing bonus next year.

I had put in the effort the stakes demanded. Careful management — not a single piece of hardware delayed, not a single day lost on the schedule — meant there was nothing to worry about. Even the parts that had felt vague and daunting when only the broad framework existed in the business plan were coming together without a hitch.

All I had to do was stay sharp and not let the optimistic mood make me careless. If the next six months went the way things were going, I might even get a promotion next year. This was the time to focus on the project and nothing else. There was no room for idle thoughts — yet the earth kept drifting back into my mind, because it had started to feel real.

I was having trouble breathing.

I had not had the time to look into the exact cause — accelerating global warming, a radiation leak, something else entirely. I could not tell whether the air had grown denser or thinner. It felt at times as though something that did not belong in the air had mixed into it and was pressing down on my chest; at other times it felt as though the oxygen concentration itself had dropped and my chest was simply seizing up.

I did not know the cause, but something was clearly wrong with the earth. Maybe it really was just the heat.

"Oppa, shouldn't you at least get a checkup?"

I had said the same thing to my manager, and now my girlfriend was looking at me with worry in her eyes. It was the look of someone who genuinely loved me. To keep that love from becoming a problem, I changed the subject.

"It's probably just the heat."

We drove to a large cafe. The moment she walked into a place full of cool air and sweet things, the worry on her face vanished as though it had never been there, replaced by brightness and happiness.

"They say the madeleines and jambon-beurre here are amazing."

Both were breads she had mentioned liking before. When she realized I had remembered and looked the place up in advance, she gazed at me with eyes even more in love. Madeleine, jambon-beurre — the names had taken me a while to memorize. I had never quite understood the appeal of seeking out a specific cafe for bread that all tasted more or less the same to me.

But she liked it when I did. That was reason enough to go. The rest of the day followed the same logic — a film she would enjoy, dinner at a refined restaurant, a gift from the brand she was always talking about.

"I'm so happy."

Mid-meal, she looped her arm through mine and leaned into me. Of late, all I had wanted was to shove more food into the hollow, gnawing emptiness in my stomach — but she was looking up at me with a smile, so I put down my fork and smiled back.

"Oppa, when are we getting married?"

The answer was obvious. Soon, before long, next year at the latest. I started to reach for whatever words she would want to hear. Then the air turned thick and clammy against my throat, and breathing became an effort. The words would not come. I kept my smile in place and managed a nod and a barely audible "We will."

I decided I needed to get a proper checkup.

"Are you feeling all right?"

It was the day I visited my parents' home for my mother's birthday — the first time in a while. While I was in the shower, she found a medical questionnaire sticking out of my bag and looked at me with concern.

"No, I'm just due for a checkup. That's all."

It was actually a voluntary exam I had scheduled on top of the routine one, but adding that would only deepen her worry, so I kept it simple.

"Right, you should get one every now and then. You're not actually sick, are you?"

"No, nothing's wrong. If something were, I'd have gone to the doctor already."

"Of course — you've always been so capable. How could anything be wrong with you? You're my pride and joy."

She beamed, and I smiled back the same way. The wider I stretched my smile, the worse the air became. It pressed hard against my chest, then struck it, then suddenly let go.

"I want to go home."

The thought arrived without warning. I want to go home. Sitting in my parents' house, wanting to go home — I told myself it was simply because I had been living alone for so long. But when I got back to the rented room I lived in, the feeling did not stop. I want to go home. I want to go home.

As though I had a home somewhere else entirely. My chest tightened again, and I resolved to get to the doctor as soon as possible. Normally I would at least have called to make an appointment. Instead, for reasons I could not explain, I could not bring myself to lift a finger — and by the time the appointment date arrived, I had done nothing at all.

Even on the day of the checkup, I lay staring blankly at the ceiling and was mildly surprised to find myself wanting to cancel everything.

"Your results are generally fine. The electrocardiogram and chest examination showed no notable abnormalities. Within the scope of what we tested today, there is nothing that would explain the chest discomfort."

The results were unexpected. The doctor did add that further testing would be advisable if the pain persisted or worsened, but he was clear that there was nothing in the findings to be seriously concerned about.

Sitting in the payment waiting area, I tried to work through it logically and came up with nothing. If anything, my chest felt more constricted than before, and breathing was harder. As my breathing grew increasingly unsteady, the large television mounted in front of the row of chairs came to life with a news anchor sitting with hands folded neatly on the desk.

"The number of young people who say they are simply 'resting' — not working and not looking for work — is growing. Earlier this year, the number of people in their 20s classified as 'resting' surpassed 400,000."

Stories followed of young people who had given up job hunting out of exhaustion, or who had quit work to pursue personal goals. Experts called for more targeted support to help youth return to the job market, but the words did not reach me.

I imagined becoming one of those young people who were simply resting. A bird bound by nothing, completely free. Breathing as deeply as I wanted for however long I was alive, even if it meant starving in the end. Remarkably, I could almost feel clean oxygen filling my lungs to capacity.

A soft hum pulled me out of the daydream — the air purifier next to the television.

"Ah. Of course."

I have a perfectly good job. The project is going well, and I am recognized at work. My relationship is on track. Marriage will follow in a few years, in due course. My parents are fine. My checkup came back clean.

There was no particular reason for me to be in pain, no reason to feel powerless. The difficulty breathing was, after all, because the air was bad. I opened my phone and added an air purifier to my shopping list.

Something was wrong with the earth. That much was certain.

carrier@heraldcorp.com