Story: TheRapists

I hate therapists. They're like abusive girlfriends. Everyone says I need therapy. Though it has never worked in the past and doing the same thing while expecting different results is the very definition of "insanity." Never-the-less I'm homeless and am pretty miserable a lot of the time, so every so often my defenses break down and I give therapy a try, full of shiny hopes that this time will be different, this time will help, fucking foo!
It takes about five months of phone calls and appointments all over the city, but finally I get an intake appointment with one of these magic therapists who supposedly help so much.
He's a fat, jolly sort, like a slightly young Santa Claus with a shorter beard and half-moon spectacles. Always careful to keep his "friendly smile" on. He carefully records the most intimate details of my life on a form five pages long, like it's common for people to tell their darkest memories about being molested by their father to a Mad-Libs game. Fighting tears and a panic attack I inform him of how suicidal I am and how anxious to begin therapy. The first session is next Monday at noon.
I look forward to the appointment all week, eagerly. Excited to be starting afresh on the road to mental health, anxious to tell a "qualified" listener all my worries and get some advice on my problems.
Getting to the secretary excited and happy I'm informed he called in sick, but he can see me tomorrow. The fat selfish fuck.

"But you don't have a phone," the secretary tried in a reasoning type of voice.

"Lady, I'm homeless, I don't have a lot of things."

"oh," she looked back at her desk,
"I'm sorry. But these things happen. People get sick."

On my first visit?! What a fucking amature. Psych101 taught even me how fragile a Doctor-Patient relationship is in the early days of therapy. Building trust is essential and vital to all further activities.
And this unthinking blimp cancels our first appointment, knowing I'm homeless, knowing I'm suicidal. He didn't even e-mail me. Sick today, but better tomorrow? Bullshit. The fat fuck was hungover or lazy.
This , this is exactly what I'm talking about. I'm supposed to get help from an anus like this? Incapable of even keeping a vital first appointment. Fuck him. He just quit from my case. I'll try their other Therapists, but if he is any indication this whole clinic is fucked. I've seen it all too many times before.
Amazing. Truly baffling. It seems to me, after so many experiences like this, that you actually have to be mentally well in the first place simply to put up with all the crap it takes to see a therapist and not get put off by all the stupidity.

Or maybe I'm healthy after all. Not ill enough to put up with ignorant behavior like this...
The world may never know.