I sure enjoy the euphoria. And the gains in compassion and being able to recognize pain in others and do what i can to help. The worst part for me is that i have a lot of trouble making a difference in the world. There's a volunteer project i was working on which will benefit a lot of my peers who are poor but i had an acute fear reaction and am on medical leave, taking time to heal. I'm a lot more fortunate than most of my peers in that i have been able to get an education and a comfortable living standard tho i went thru a poisonous time in order to get it. I feel i *could* contribute my skills and experience if only i was able to string together more than six weeks of service. This means that yet again, i am not participating in the volunteer project and not contributing. I feel like all my suffering has no meaning because i am not able to help others. If i could just get something done, some good work, do some good for my beautiful people, the mentally ill clowns of God, i would feel a lot better about myself. But here i am, resting and recovering, catching up on my sleep, hydration, nutrition, laundry, dishes, groceries, all day-to-day activities i ignored while i was hypo-manic and now demand attention. So sick of not being able to make any progress, not being able to make a difference, not being able to help others, not being able to give my life and my suffering any meaning . . . .