Yesterday, my therapist told me to quit my job and my depression would go away.

Ummm. no.

The day before, my psych nurse told me it was biochemical and treatment resistant. (My psych nurse has also shared with me that she has depression. I'm very glad she never went to that therapist.)

To my now ex-T: Thanks for playing, now run along and find someone else to fix.

But inside, the depression demon is laughing and reminding me that I don't belong anywhere and resistance is futile.

I read posts here about amazingly helpful, compassionate, patient, caring, insightful therapists that some people have the pleasure of working with. I'm very happy for you. Those are the therapeutic relationships that help.