Hold the Line (iii)
Fragments from a crisis phone worker. 01/01/2024 - 01/12/2024.
The 5th of January
A day of domestic violence.
All the shelters are full.
Victims with nowhere to go.
I’m a terrible person.The 8th of January We had an emergency staff meeting. A co-worker killed himself over the weekend-- the fourth suicide since September. Turns out, 2023 saw a record number of suicides. I think of my co-worker: dedicated, kind, passionate, viscerally empathetic. Is everyone killing themselves for the same reason? Is everyone overly dedicated, overly kind, overly empathetic? Do we care too much or not at all? Does it matter? We’ve entered a new epoch in human evolution. Empathy is high-proof alcohol. Our ancestors possessed an innate tolerance, feeling warmth from their charity. Now, a prudent sip results in spiritual cirrhosis. Our modern bodies developed a violent aversion to empathy-- we fear it as we would any threat. Those who chronically treat their neighbor as thyself wind up with slit wrists and bruised necks. Part of me is shattered. Part of me is grateful for the thirty minutes off the phone.
“I haven’t worked since ’97. I think my references are dead.”
“No. I can’t go there. That food bank scares me. I’ve seen people get into fights over rotten food, literal fights—”
I imagine a burly Bukowskian man bludgeoning a scrawny Oliver Twist to death with an ugly potato. Bits of brain spray through the air and land with gelatinous plops. Scores of trampy troglodytes cloaked in too-big U-Haul blankets emerge from the shadows. Polyester whispers against the tile as they roam like truffle pigs Hoovering up cortex.
“—are there any other food banks?”
(There aren’t)
“I need a lawyer. My television doesn’t fit in my new apartment, and I missed the goddamn ball drop.”
This caller’s last name is: Everybodytalksabout 'These are our neighbors Mr. and Mrs. Everybodytalksabout and their son Theboy.' 'So...this is Theboy Everybodytalksabout?' 'That's right.' Sometimes, I must bite my lip--draw blood to confirm I’m not in a fever dream.
“When I got lymphedema, the Goodwill decided I wasn’t worth keeping and just threw me away—I got this apartment for my two English Mastiffs, and now I’m being evicted.”
It’s concerning how similar household and asshole feel to the mouth.
I live in fear of accidentally saying:
‘How many adults and children are in your asshole?’
"my mental state and stuff like that… lots of family deaths and stuff like that… lost my job and stuff like that… been told by my counselor and stuff like that… I need help and stuff like that… in December, and stuff like that…"
A woman and her father: “We’re super homeless!” The woman: 52 yo Her father: 78 yo If she were my daughter, she’d be six.
I get scared when a caller shares my birthday. The mutual date is an astrological disease vector—a wet sneeze to the face. I brace for infection. My eyes will go fuzzy at any moment, and a shrill screeching will berate my ears. Torrents of blood will issue from my nostrils as my body is ravaged by cancerous predators—pancreatic hyenas snarling at lung lions for a quick nibble at my corpse.
Something’s status as an illusion does not condemn it to non-existence.
the 23rd of january is out to get me Sometimes, when a caller answers their phone, I am reminded of how you (despite your phone displaying that picture of us in Newburyport on our four-year anniversary) would always answer with an unfamiliar "Hello?"-- as if my call was marked Potential Spam. You were right to be hesitant. Maybe, something inside you sensed I was a perennial stranger, and you were just greeting me appropriately. I think you're why I do this work. Why I try to heal rather than inflict or coerce. Everything is a desperate attempt to rectify.
Hold the Line is a series of entries inspired by work at a crisis call center. I'm fascinated with the callers' tone of voice, turns of phrase, preferred greetings and valedictions, and so on. Their stories and demeanor trigger things in me--personal memories, imaginary conversations, things I'd read--and this series is a vehicle to record these responses. Any material between " " are actual quotes from callers.
I get so angry when there is no support system availability for the people on the end of the phone who need it. Feel this. Your writing is spot on. Thankyou.
Agreed, what a weight you have here and you captured it well for us to carry for a bit. It makes me wonder if your coworker(s) caught the virus or had it all along. The latter would make your job like a hospice of sorts. I just read something about how we have to stop empathizing if we aim to survive. That it’s more about compassion (suffering together) than trying to live in others’ shoes while seeing the world through their eyes. Seems like a fine line. And I imagine my ancestors and I don’t think it was kindness that helped them survive.