Here's some unexpected news. Apparently, being rich is a depressing experience. Yes, you read that right. A new breed of therapists has arisen to treat the angst, the weltschmerz, the sheer misery of being wealthy.

The pain the well-heeled feel even has a medical name: Wealth Fatigue Syndrome. No, I'm not making this up. Here is a quote from one therapist, Manfred Kets de Vries, to illustrate the point: "For the super-rich, houses, yachts, cars and planes are like new toys that they play with for five minutes and then lose interest in. Pretty soon, to attain the same buzz, they have to spend more money. All the spending is a mad attempt to cover up boredom and depression."

When money is available in unlimited quantities, apparently, the victim sinks into "a kind of inertia". It's no longer enough to go to Monte Carlo and swan about, lording it over the ordinary folk; the wealthy have to jump out of planes or swim with sharks to sharpen up their jaded facilities.

Travelling first class is no longer good enough; you have to own a jet. Then you spot some other wealthy types with a bigger jet, so you buy one bigger still. And while you're nipping off to Australia to climb up the side of the Sydney Opera House, you feel a hole in your soul and find you can't enjoy anything any more.

Well, isn't that special? I don't wish anyone any harm (a few obvious exceptions aside) but this has the ring of "it serves you right". Those who turn the pursuit of money into the be-all and end-all of their existence find that, like chasing the treasure of the Sierra Madre, it's a recipe for emptiness.

Frank James has written a book on the subject, Richistan. "The rich are never happy, no matter what they have," he told a news reporter. "There was a man who owned a 100-foot yacht. I said: 'This is a terrific boat'. He said: 'Look down the harbour'. We looked down the marina, and there were boats two and three times as large. He said: 'My 100-foot yacht today is like a dinghy compared to those other boats.' When else in history has someone been able to call a 100-foot yacht a dinghy?"

Bill Gates of Microsoft, one of the richest and most hated men alive, has decided to give most of his money away because having it is not doing his conscience much good. He has kept a 50,000-square foot mansion, but he and his wife Melinda have decided that the only way to make fewer people hate them is to become philanthropists.

"Happiness studies have repeatedly shown that being marginally better off than your neighbours makes you feel good, but being 100 times richer makes you feel worse," wrote Helen Kirwan-Taylor. "So either you change your friends, or you live with the envy of others."

I have no idea what the medical treatment for Wealth Fatigue Syndrome is, but I do know this: the fault lies in the person, not the money. If you are trying to become rich in order to lord it over your friends and neighbours, no amount of money will solve your basic character flaws.

I know a number of wealthy people, somewhat. I have always followed Damon Runyan's advice to stick close to big money, "in case some of it rubs off". I have to say that not all the fabulously wealthy people I know are miserable, but some of them are.

Many of the wealthy Bermuda residents I know appear to be at ease with their situation. Old money doesn't seem to make people quite as miserable, and the new money tycoons I talk to appear more grounded, although I'm sure the odd one turns into a monster when the reporter leaves the room.

I once worked for a guy who seemingly had it all. Big houses, jets, fancy suits, the works. The richer he became, often by cheating others, the fewer friends he had. Because I was his employee, and can sometimes make people laugh, I was often invited to giant blowouts, at which he would treat his friends to the finest food in the world.

I'm not immune to having a good time at someone else's expense, but even I got sick of the ostentation and the void at the heart of the man's life. I started declining invitations, and soon enough was out of work.

It gave me enormous satisfaction to learn that he had, finally, spent all his money and become broke. The pleasure I felt was partly for me - he routinely treated us peons appallingly, and deserved his comeuppance - but partly for him, because I hoped he might be a little happier when the dough had evaporated.

Am I saying that you shouldn't strive to be more comfortable? I am not. But when the pursuit of money for its own sake replaces the pursuit of happiness, you can be certain it's a recipe for disaster.

I've said it before: it doesn't matter what the people next door have. All that matters is that you remain comfortable in your skin, see money for what it is, not for what it means to other people and, when you have enough, think about why you're chasing still more.

It's interesting that we have Wealth Fatigue Syndrome but not Poverty Fatigue Syndrome. Or is that what we call normal living? Sophie Tucker said: "I've been rich and I've been poor. Rich is better." Comfortable is best of all.

Be true to yourself and be happy with your achievements. Let the only fatigue you suffer from come from hard work and hard play. Don't let your money lead to isolation.

If you can make ends meet, and set something aside for your retirement, you'll find you can be the happiest person on earth. Or the least miserable. As in every endeavour, the golden middle path is the only one to take.