Original Song: Not Beaten Yet

One of my ways of coping with stress is writing. In college, I wrote songs as one of my ways to cope with a near-overwhelming depression and borderline personality disorder (BPD). During my sophomore year of college, I was hospitalized for severe depression and suicidal ideation. While in the psychiatric ward, I wrote this spiritual song, which I now share with you because of its message of hope in the middle of despair. This song came to me on my twentieth birthday.

Verse 1

From Nuthatch to madhouse, nowhere to go,

I stagger and stumble from every blow.

Down on the ground, ref starts to count ten,

They don't know that I'll get up again.

I may be chained but I won't be bound

Because of the tremendous courage I've found.

I say a prayer "Lord, don't let me forget

"You're here by my side; we're not beaten yet."

Chorus

Though the righteous may stumble,

He picks them back up.

Though the poor may have nothing

He fills up their cup.

Though the weak weep alone

And cry deserts wet

He stands right behind them

And they're not beaten yet.

Verse 2

I'm wandering and running; my life's at stake

A few more bricks and my back will break.

My strength is leaving, drying up fast

I know that I can't outrun my past.

Bound in prison, but I will run free,

There's a Strong Banner watching over me.

My mind races but I must keep it set

For with God at my side, I'm not beaten yet.

Chorus

Though the righteous may stumble,

He picks them back up.

Though the poor may have nothing

He fills up their cup.

Though the weak weep alone

And cry deserts wet

He stands right behind them

And they're not beaten yet.

Verse 3

I'm hurt and fighting so I can survive,

Beaten so badly, more dead than alive.

I drop my armor and start to flee,

I need my Redeemer to comfort me!

Jehovah Jireh, will You provide

A shelter for the little child inside?

Jehovah Rapha, will You heal me?

Jehovah Nissi, in You I'll be free.

Chorus

Though the righteous may stumble,

He picks them back up.

Though the poor may have nothing

He fills up their cup.

Though the weak weep alone

And cry deserts wet

He stands right behind them

And they're not beaten yet.