The very first therapist I ever saw was by far the worst. After months of fear about seeing one, I finally got the courage to go to the student counseling center and tell them I needed help. They sent me to a psychiatrist on campus, which means he was a professor.
So I go in and sit down in an armchair. Across the room, he sits in his desk. He asks me, "what do you want?"
Me: Told him I had been sexually abused by my neighbor at age six and am having a lot of problems.
Him: But what do you want?
Me: I want to find a way to deal with this better, to have a better life.
Him: Yes, but what do you want?
Me (irritated): I want to feel better.
Him: Yes, well I see you're getting a little hot under the collar, but I really just want to know what you want?
This went on for maybe twenty minutes, finally, he asked his one question one too many times so I grabbed my satchel and left. He may have said something but I didn't listen. His receptionist rose from her desk, extended her arm as if to have me wait and asked if I wanted to reschedule. "Reschedule?"
Guy was a quack. I felt really depressed, ready to give up, suicidal. I walked past the building where I had several classes, and thought of going up to the 8th floor balcony and jumping off. But I was also angry, and I think that stopped me.
A day or two later I went back to the counseling center and gave them a piece of my mind: "there's no way this quack could ever be of any use to anyone that needs counseling. What were you thinking? He's incompetent. Don't ever send anyone to this asshole again." They apologized profusely and sent me to another therapist.