This Weird Girl

This poem was written in 2010, when I finally recognized my inner crazy wasn’t the result of my own failure, but of messed up hormones and lies I was believing about myself. How I was able to find a glimmer of hope in that season of my life only solidifies the testimony of the Holy Spirit’s presence in my life.

The Depressed Christian
by Angela Sundaramurthy
10/18/10

Breathe in, breathe out, what is the point?
Breath sustains life, but why live?

I am valuable but I sell myself cheap.
I give myself daily to a demon, a thief.
He tells me I’m nothing, am spent and defiled
Greedily I accept the abuse and revile

I live day-to-day analyzing my moods
Did I sleep? Take my meds? Did I eat the right foods?
Plastic army men in my brain, like a rattle,
Are tossed to and fro, too distracted for battle

My life is a camp on the edge of a field
Waiting for the last battle’s wounds to be healed
The Commander yells “Charge!”  I’m too ill to get started.
Instead, I retreat to my tent, broken hearted

My face is buried in the spread of my cot
The whole point of my service is to say that I fought
How can I fight when I’m tucked down in my tent?
My passion and strength seems entirely spent.

A rustling is heard at the edge of my bed
Silhouettes of the enemy are cast o’er in red
He whispers a message in the thick of my wail,
“Injured soldiers,” he taunts, “Can do nothing but fail.”

“You’re so weak and invalid, what sorry a sight.
Don’t shame yourself trying to fight ‘gainst my might.
Here is my weapon, you know what to do.
Don’t burden your King to take care of you!”

He places his sword in my hand and I think,
If I go away now not one comrade would wink.
I sat up in my bed and thought for a bit
Then said to Satan, “This is bull shit!”

“You’re in MY tent, in MY camp, in MY land!
You think that you’ve got me in the palm of your hand?
I was hand-picked by the Commander himself.
He knows of my wounds and has nursed me to health.”

I threw down the sword and fell to my knees
I cried out to God to rescue me please
In the flash of no time, with an earthquake and fire
Jesus stood in my tent and stared down at the liar

The enemy’s eyes grew wide with panic
He screamed like a girl, he just couldn’t stand it!
He ran from my tent ’cause he hadn’t a chance
With tail between legs, looking back- not one glance

“My dear child,” said God, “You need not to strive.”
I died for your sins.  Look now, I’m alive!
The enemy thought he had rights to you,
I dare say you thought what he thought must be true.
But it is a lie, as you will now see.
You do not have to fight.  This fight is on Me.
Submit to the Lord is all I ask you to do.”

Resist the devil and he will flee from you!

I picked up the sword that the evil one gave me.
His intent to destroy was considered so aptly
I handed the weapon of evil to Jesus
He took it and used it for the purpose to free us.

I’m still in my tent on the road to recovery
But now I have witnessed an age-old discovery
What is the point of living and breathing?
To glorify God and enjoy Him in everything.

Recovery is more important to me
Than my next breath, or next meal, or next revelry
When hurts, habits, and hang-ups are a thing of the past
I will walk in God’s glory, that forever will last.

Watch out, O you enemies, when I’m once again well
When the Commander yells “Charge!” You’ll head straight to Hell

Interested in more of my poetry and accompanying interpretations, look for my book! (coming soon)