I had somewhere in the range of 8-10 years of therapy. It started when I was around 10 and my primary school put me in a therapy group for troubled children after my father passed.
Out of all the therapies I tried, this one was probably the only one that offered a modicum of effectiveness simply because it provided an hour each week where I could escape from the isolation and bullying I dealt with in my classes.
However, the other children in my group were unhinged and one of them went and told the staff at school that we had a ctb pact (we didn't, I hardly even knew this girl and I had no contact with her outside of the group as per the rules. I wasn't actively contemplating suicide at this point either.)
So I was punished at home and no more group for me. Each subsequent therapist was even worse than the one that came before them. Worthless platitudes, gaslighting, "oh that sucks, just wait till you're 18", the same trite advice repeated over and over- gee, I had no idea I could try hobbies! What a novel suggestion therapist drone #3727!
As my problems grew more complex, therapists grew more useless. None of them have been able to offer me any sage wisdom or support. They aren't equipped with the tools to properly deal with complex ptsd, autism, chronic pain, estrangement, etc. Their words are as empty as your wallet after a session.
Yet everyone and their brother will tell you to "shop around" until you find the right one. I'm sorry, but no therapist exists who can fill the void left by having no family, a lifetime of isolation, being abused at every turn, rampant ostratisation, and physical pain that drives you mad.
I quit seeking out a therapist because I was getting nothing out of it besides a hemmorage of finances.