202. What Can Be Redeemed – Anna Gazmarian
I find myself turning everything into a redemption narrative, including my own life. The idea that broken things can be restored: This is the closest I get to maintaining hope.
Twelve years ago, I lived in a one-bedroom apartment in Raleigh, North Carolina, before skyscrapers slowly began to invade the skyline, before there were trendy restaurants on every street corner. I had dropped out of college and had recently been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. My days revolved around getting myself out of bed and taking my medications.
Eventually my life felt irredeemable, and I moved to Michigan to re-enroll in college, hoping for a fresh start (though I quickly learned that doesn’t really exist). After I got married, my husband and I moved back to North Carolina, but to Durham. I didn’t return to nearby Raleigh for many years because just driving on the interstate sparked difficult memories of suicidal thoughts or countless reckless decisions. The city remained a symbol of how dark my depression can get. I thought it could never be more than that.
But just last Sunday, I found myself driving from Durham to Raleigh with a close friend without giving the past much thought. The roads didn’t bring up those unwanted memories, and the loneliness didn’t overwhelm me like it used to. We wandered downtown, revisiting old places. We went to my favorite coffee shop, where years ago I spent hours working through mood regulation worksheets before therapy . I didn’t even think to mention this to my friend because it felt so distant from who I am now.
We both ordered caramel lattes, which I hadn’t had in a decade because they reminded me of when I was depressed. We clanked our plastic cups together in a toast, and I said it felt like a symbol of hope. Sure, the sadness was still there, but I was also present with my friend. I’m learning that joy and sorrow can coexist. I’m beginning to understand that this is the space that I will spend most of my life.
I was raised as an evangelical Christian, which makes spontaneously recalling random stories from the Bible one of my only special talents. These days, I still identify as a Christian, but for different reasons than before. I used to be fascinated with the disciples because of their piousness, but now I’m more fascinated with the stories of the most unlikely people being used by God. I find myself turning everything into a redemption narrative, including my own life. The idea that broken things can be restored: This is the closest I get to maintaining hope. I’m fighting to believe that nothing in this life is beyond repair.
– Anna Gazmarian
