As a part of my Master's degree program in social work, I worked on a crisis intervention hotline for about one year. A lot of the services I provided were information and referral. Many people needed to be connected to services in the city such as legal aid, sliding scale counseling, support groups, or resources for food and shelter. Naturally, our primary purpose was crisis intervention, so we were always prepared to take appropriate action when we received a call from someone contemplating suicide, or a person already in the process of carrying out the act. We received many hours of training to be able to handle a wide variety of crises. My specialization was mental health, so I already knew a lot about suicide warning signs, clinical depression, crisis management, and suicide prevention. But, nothing can actually prepare you for handling a person in such serious crisis as real world training on a suicide hotline. You learn very quickly how to act quickly on your feet, make potentially life-altering decisions, and make judgment calls in a matter of minutes.

One serious issue that plagues any suicide hotline are frequent callers. Generally speaking, utilize intervention services as a means of attention-seeking. Others are lonely and simply looking for someone to talk to. In our computers, we had lists of frequent callers with their phone numbers and “names” they'd use. There's also a brief description of typical scenarios described by the frequent caller such as: “Nurse who claims she inadvertently killed a patient. Has been suicidal as a result. Is threatening to take a bottle of pills.” On the rare occasion the phones were silent, I'd taken to studying the list of frequent callers and their profiles.

I normally worked the all night shift, from 11 pm to 7 am, the time when the majority of true crises occurs. One particular night, I was there with only one other crisis worker, so we rotated answering the phone. I had a profile name for safety reasons, there are rare occasions when crisis workers would be stalked by callers. Just a few nights before, I'd had a suicide in progress with a woman who'd overdosed. Fortunately, I'd followed the protocol and had the ambulance there in time. She'd called back a few days later and asked to talk to our executive director. She was incensed that I'd called the police and emergency services and had “interrupted” her suicide.

This was the 90's when the panic of the AIDS epidemic was in full swing, so I'd mostly been on the phone answering questions like: “Can you get AIDS if you french kiss someone?” Sprinkled in between were people looking for resources like legal aid, shelters, drug and alcohol rehab, and of course, the predictable number of frequent callers.

It was my turn to answer the phone, ready for another information and referral call and completely unprepared for what I was about to endure.

For confidentiality reasons, I am changing the profile of the individual.

A gentleman introduced himself as a police officer and began explaining to me how he'd been involved in a shooting, which the bureau was currently investigating. He stated that he'd already been told it was unlikely he'd be able to return to the police force, as it had been determined that he used his weapon inappropriately. I listened, was sympathetic, was basically waiting for him to ask me to connect him to some legal aid or therapist. Then he said: “That's why I have a gun up to my temple right now.” I calmly told him to put down the gun and go to another room to talk to me. He said he couldn't do that. I told him I was so proud that he was trying to save his life by calling me and suggested again he put the gun down, or at least empty the barrel. Again he said he couldn't do it and stated it wouldn't matter anyway since he has an ample gun collection.

I'd already signaled my co-worker, had him look at the called ID print-out to get his phone number so we could trace it to his address. His phone number was blocked, so we were at a small disadvantage. It then became his job to get the authorities involved in tracing the line. Now, it was a waiting game, my job was to keep him on the line, calm him down and if possible, get him to put down the gun.

By this time, I was beginning to feel the stress. He was getting more and more upset, yelling about how his life was over if he couldn't be a police officer anymore, and that he just really didn't want to live anymore. I tried to keep talking to him, begging him to put the gun down, but could barely get a word in. I asked if he could go to a neighbors house, and for a minute it seemed I got his attention. He said: “I do have some friends next door, pretty good friends.” He said: “You're not going to call the police, are you? You need to know that would be the worst thing you could possibly do in my situation. I will blow off my head if you do that.” I assured him I was there to help and listen. I tried to steer him back to putting the gun down and going into a different room.

He then became eerily silent. He said he just really didn't want to talk anymore, and that maybe he'd just go now. I told him we'd gone this far together, and I'd feel more comfortable knowing he'd made the right decision and gotten away from the gun. All I could think was: “COME ON, POLICE!” He went on to describe how he really was ready to die, that he'd made all the proper arrangements, and that he really only called so he could have someone on the line with him as he pulled the trigger. He just wanted one person he could say “goodbye” to. Now, I was trembling.

Suddenly, he dropped the phone and I could hear him yelling. He kept saying: “No, no, no!” I was praying this wasn't the final moment. Then I heard voices, and a lot of them and I knew the police and EMTs had arrived. I listened for a while to the commotion, but had to wait for verification that the help had arrived. He picked back up the phone and calmly said: “You promised me you wouldn't call. Why did you do that?” A police officer then spoke to me and told me he was in good hands and thanked me for my intervention.

I spent about the next hour still shaking and running the scenario through my mind. Naturally, I kept imagining what it would have been like for me to hear that gun shot and envisioning the effects that would have upon me for a long time. My co-worker took the next few calls as I regained my composure.

I went back to studying the frequent caller list, which, again was quite extensive. As I finally made my way to the bottom of the list, I was horrified by what I saw. Profile: “police officer”. Circumstances: Has been involved in a work-related shooting and might lose his job over it. Will say: “His life is over since he can't be a police officer anymore.” He will have a gun to his head.”

I was horrified. I'd fallen for it. I'd involved precious resources in the community. I'd never even considered he wasn't legitimate. I was left feeling a deep sadness for this gentleman and the others who inappropriately call crisis hotlines. I made peace with knowing that maybe this really would have been the one time he would have acted upon his mental illness and pulled the trigger.

Frequent callers are a significant problem on crisis intervention hotlines, between 8% and 12& of calls come from these “frequent flyers”. Many of them have Borderline Personality Disorder, a very real, and treatment resistant disorder. As I look back on my experience, I am glad I didn't know he was a frequent caller. I was able to treat him as he deserved: the same as any other caller. I listened, showed empathy, I was non-judgmental, I treated him with respect, and I offered him hope. Maybe this crisis hotline was his only lifeline for intervention, granted it wasn't the best approach. But, maybe, just maybe that night left him with a sense of hope. The security that the world isn't such a harsh, uncaring place after all. That maybe, just maybe there is someone out there who can help after all.