Are Psychics the New Therapists?

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I am not good with therapy in the way that some people aren't good with languages or dogs. I don't "get" therapy. I've tried it, first in college and then later in graduate school. That second time, I liked my therapist. She had an office on a quiet, tree-lined street in New York City, and the ritual of going there every other week made me feel as if I was doing something good for my mental health. (My insurance, fortunately, agreed.)

I had started therapy for the same reason many people start therapy: I was going through a breakup. But by my fourth session, I was already running out of things to talk about. My therapist had heard the story of my ex: how we met, why we broke up, the early warning signs and the unresolved ending. I caught her looking out the window while I talked about my sister's baby shower. I was boring her. I was boring myself.

The next time I was going through a breakup (a recurring cycle that happens roughly every two years), I realized that I didn't want to talk about it; I wanted reassurance. I wanted to be told to move on, that there would be someone else (or to wait, that he would come around). Either way, I just wanted to know that I was going to be all right.