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DATELINE: 2 August, 2005

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NORTHHAMPTON, MA, USA - It will be strange to be back in Northampton, Massachusetts, with my new wife and step-daughter. This will be part of our summer vacation. I spent a year homeless and alone in Northampton for a year. I know I will drive by the shelter, and I will want to stop,and knock on the door, make some kind of contact.

But I have been advised not to by my therapist. She didn't exactly say that, but cautioned me that I might be prone to re-live the experience emotionally when I return to the setting, In other words, become depressed.

I could. It's possible.

But being homeless was not strictly about depression. Far from it. It was a creative time for me, with a bit more than a tinge of excitement and danger attached to the experience. As a poet, I want to immerse myself in the experience again, I must admit, up to a point.

No, I would not choose to be confined by those circumstances again. A sense of imprisonment was one of the primary features of my experience of homelessness. I tasted freedom in my homelessness. However, I felt constrained. Deep inside, I wondered, is there a light at the end of the tunnel for me? I asked myself a key question ... When will I regain a reasonable measure of economic independence? I went on, in moments of solitude, to ask myself a tougher question ... When have I ever mastered the art of economic independence? The answer, at least then ... never.

My entire life could be characterized as a vagabond existence. Looking back, the pattern was clear. I moved from job to job, place to place, relationship to relationship endlessly, When you live like that, your finances are bound to deteriorate. Mine certainly did.

My poetry and songs conveyed a sense of yearning for roots, a permanent home. Yet, it seems that I fled from that type of existence for years. Why?

The answer is complicated. The tough questions seldom have simpl e answers. I could easily attribute this tendency to my Bipolar Disorder. Thankfully, the experience of hitting bottom during the homeless period led down a pathway to full acceptance of my Bipolar and effective treatment.

I could also point to family history as a causative factor. Or, simply, some of the unfortunate choices I made, repetitively, in my life. I could mention a lack of spiritual depth or insight. That type of growth is never-ending. I certainly have much to learn in terms of deepening my insight -- at the deeper levels of the psyche.

I believe that growth in the realm of Spirituality is interwoven with both my creative development and personal recovery.

I can acknowledge that since 1999, when I finally accepted the Bipolar diagnosis and accepted psychiatric help, that my life has gradually turned around. I place emphasis on the word "gradually." It can take years to disassemble the existence of a person with Bipolar Dipolar. It can certainly take years to put all the pieces of his or her existence back together.

Many Bipolars are creative, including myself. But, in my experience, creativity alone is not sufficient to generate recovery. In my case, I was creative both before and after treatment. I think that now my mind is more focused, though my creativity quotient remains about the same, I suppose. I believe that many Bipolars believe that creativity can, by itself, serve as the curative mechanism for the disorder, or that treatment will snuff out the flame of creativity. Neither, I think, is true. However, I believe that once treatment is initiated, creativity can serve as an enormous catalyst of growth. It is an enormous potential asset for the mentally ill person to also be creative.

I have been working more or less steadily now for the past six years, am re-married. I have regained my certification as a counselor. I am writing and submitting my work. My relationships with family and friends have stabilized greatly. I continue in treatment and am pursuing my spiritual growth. Finally, my economic situation is much improved.

I am thankful to all of the help I have received from family and friends, several shelters and health care personnel in Western New England, as well as mental health providers in several other states. I was afforded treatment at a reduced cost, and sometimes for nothing when I could not afford it.

The creative fires continue to burn.

In writing this commentary, perhaps I have conveyed a message to other creative individuals who may be experiencing untreated mental illness and, possibly, homelessness. I feel that we share a great deal. I regard them as my brothers and sisters. I hope that something I have said might be of assistance.