I finally plucked up the courage to go to the Doctor's and ask for help with my depression..

Me: I was really nervous to come today. I'd really like some help, I've been struggling with depression for a while now.
Her: OK, let's have a look at your notes.
(Tapping away at computer, not bothering to look at me)
Her: So last January you were in hospital after cutting your wrists
Me: Yes..
(Still tapping away)
Her: And you received counselling this time last year for alcohol abuse
Me: Yes...
Her: And this time last year you...were admitted to an eating disorders unit??

THEN I SWEAR TO GOD THE BITCH LOOKED ME UP AND DOWN. As if to say, "You? Eating disorder? What was it, Binge eating?!!"

Bitch.

I asked for anti-depressants, she said no. I asked for something to help my Insomnia, she suggested a hot bath before bed. As if I haven't tried that and everything else.
Then she proceeded to quiz me to diagnose if I really had depression. Because, obviously, her little quiz will tell her more than I can.

Her: Do you ever feel hopeless?
Me: Yes.
Her: Do you have trouble sleeping?
Me: What? I just told you that. Yes!
Her: No need to get angry. Do you have trouble concentrating? Have you lost interest in day to day activities?
Me: Yes!
Her: Are you having problems at home or work?

...And so it went on, even though i had just spent half an hour before telling her everything about what is and what isn't wrong. In the end I started crying, even though I tried not to give the bitch the satisfaction. She just looked me up and down (again), passed me a tissue and said "Is that all?"

Yeah, that's all. Thanks a fucking bunch.