Venting
I just finished eating lunch. Afterward, I stayed at my dinner table for at least half an hour, apparently doing absolutely nothing. In actuality I argued with my therapist in my head.

I hate my therapist. I'd get rid of him, but only having Medicaid insurance severely limits my options. He doesn't understand me at all, and he manages to say the least supportive and encouraging things. Unfortunately, a lot of therapists I've had have done the same thing. You'd think it wouldn't bother me anymore, but whenever I have to talk to an especially clueless individual, it makes me want to scream.

He constantly compares me to his other clients, who happen to be street beggars, drug addicts, ex-murderers, and other assorted lowlifes. He unsuccessfully tries to make me feel better because I don't have any of their problems. Instead, I hear him saying that his other clients have real problems while I don't. I just have a problem inside my head. So he treats them seriously and doesn't really have to put too much effort into helping me. If that's the case, believe me, it shows. He consistently says nothing but the most idiotic and useless things.

I'm very worried that any form of therapy is doomed to fail. This is because I must bring certain things to the table in order for any therapist to be able to help me. First, the motivation to work with the therapist and change my life can only come from me. This fails because the only motivation I have is to die. Second, I must be concerned about my life and the work I do in therapy. This fails because I really don't give a shit about anything anymore, much less working with some guy who listens to me only because he's paid to. Third, I must be interested in what the therapist says and what goes on during these sessions. This fails because I definitely have no interest in what my current therapist says, and this makes the entire session effectively useless. Fourth, I have to cooperate. I didn't mention this earlier, but I'm notorious for never doing what any therapist tells me to do. Ninety-nine percent of the time the things that therapists tell me to do I've either tried already and had no results, or they sound so stupid that they would never work. Fifth, I have to have expectations. This fails not because I don't have any expectations, but because my expectations are way too high. I expect my depression to be cured. I expect to be happy again. I expect to have my career back on track. I expect to have a social life again. I expect to have enough money to be financially secure. Finally, I expect to have casual sexual relationships with many different women. Only then will I find life worth living. (Okay, I slightly exaggerated on that last expectation.)

Sadly, I'm probably just going to have to live with this. My therapist basically only has two options: sit there and listen to me, or throw me into the state mental hospital. Do you still wonder why I want to kill myself?