[All names have been made up for confidentiality reasons]
You’d be surprised on how many non-suicide calls we get.
Sometimes lonely people would call because they were being bullied, depressed, or in an abusive relationship. Other times we’d get prank calls, or just really disturbing ones. As operators, even if a creep calls we can’t just be frank and tell them that no one wants to hear about their… awkward fetishes. I used to work as an operator at a suicide hotline which I won’t name for obvious reasons—but over the years of volunteering, there were many calls that deeply affected me or left me speechlessly confused.
One of my most baffling incidents was with a girl named Kelly.
I was still quite new to operating when a girl named Kelly called. Kelly’s case was quite different from the ones I was used to handling (such as prank calls, actual suicide calls, creep calls, etc.). She had called asking for advice on her suicidal best friend.
Caller: “H-Hi, my name is Kelly. Could you help me?”
Me: “Of course, we’re here to help.”
Caller: “I think… I think my friend is suicidal…”
Me: “What makes you think that?”
Caller: ”She… she told me once she wasn’t happy at home. She sometimes gets picked on at school too. But sometimes… sometimes she mentions suicide. I just want to help her! But I don’t know what to do… I don’t want her to commit suicide, she’s my best friend.”
Kelly talked hastily, her nerves showing in her voice.
Me: “Okay, Kelly—I can call you Kelly, right?”
Caller: ”Oh, sure.”
Me: “Okay, Kelly, let’s not jump to conclusions right away. Has your friend been acting strangely?”
Caller: ”Um, kind of? She’s avoiding me. Avoiding everyone, really. She doesn’t respond to calls or texts from me or anyone, it’s like she doesn’t exist outside of school. She quit art club, which she loves… or used to anyways. I’m worried because she’s never done anything like this—completely shutting down.”
Me: “Have you tried speaking to her about this?”
Caller: “No… I’m scared that she’d distance herself more, or hate me.”
Me: “And why would she hate you for worrying about her?”
Caller: ”Yeah, you’re right. But how would I bring up the topic though?”
Me: “Remember, hypothetically your friend might also be afraid of being hated and avoided by you too.”
Caller: ”So she doesn’t get hurt?”
Me: “Yes, you could say it in that way. But this is just hypothetically.”
Caller: ”OK, I get it. I think I know how to talk to her. Thanks so much for listening. I think I just needed someone to listen to my worries.”
Me: “No problem, good luck with your friend.”
Caller: ”Wait, can I have your name so I can maybe talk to you again?”
Me: “Oh, we generally aren’t allowed to, but ask for the name Robbie the next time you call and I’ll try to be with you again.”
Caller: ”Okay, thanks, miss! Have a good day.”
That was Kelly’s first call. I was quite proud of myself for being useful to someone, but my conversation with Kelly was soon forgotten as I carried on taking calls. About a month passed by normally—until Kelly’s next call.
At the time I wasn’t taking any calls for I was on a little break. Anne, another one of the volunteer operators rushed over to me saying there was an urgent call—the person refused to talk to anyone but me.
A person named Kelly.
Me: ”Kelly? It’s me Robbie, is something wrong?”
There was a faint muffled sound that sounded like yelling.
Kelly: ”M-my friend! She’s threatening to jump! I… sob I don’t know what to do!”
I was taken aback for a moment. It took me a second to fully process what was happening. I kept myself from freaking out. I couldn’t—wouldn’t let Kelly lose her best friend.
Me: “Kelly, Kelly! Please try to calm down—take deep breaths. We’ve got to have a clear head in order to help your friend, OK?”
Kelly: ”Yeah, breathes in and out I called the police already, they’re on their way… I’m sorry, I just needed someone. Anybody. They told me to stall her and keep her from jumping… But, I-I…”
Me: “That’s perfectly fine. I’m here for you, OK?”
There was a few moments of silence and more muffled yelling.
Kelly: ”….I’m sorry, I’m sorry! sob“
Me: “Kelly? Are you still there?”
There was no reply. The only sound was the loud shuffling of wind—like the sound a video picks up as you’re running.
Kelly: “NO! BRI! PLEASE! DON’T GO!”
Me: “Kelly?!”
Kelly: ”I’M SORRY! I’M SORRY FOR NOT BEING THERE! BRI! I’M BEGGING YOU! Don’t… leave me!”
Kelly was yelling at the top of her lungs. The phone filled with her crying and voice breaking. I opened my mouth to say something—anything, but nothing came out. All I could do was sit there listening—eyes tearing up.
Unknown: ”Miss!”
The line abruptly cut. The last thing I heard was what I had hoped to be a policeman or a passerby who was alerted of the situation. I burst into tears as soon as I regained my senses and the throbbing numbness in my chest was replaced by a sharp stab of guilt and grief. I felt dizzy and sick, so I excused myself for the day. The other workers being very understanding of my early leave.
The rest of the day I tried my best to calm myself down. I told myself I wouldn’t have been able to do anything—that I tried my hardest and did what I could do.
The next day wasn’t any better. It was honestly a miracle that I could even wake up in the morning. My eyes were swollen and puffy, my pillow was stained with tears and my hair resembled that of a bird’s nest. The small hope that Kelly and her friend had still managed to make it out safe and alive gave me the strength to go back to work that exhausting morning.
A few weeks passed but the incident was still fresh in my mind. I had managed to accept what happened and although it still hurt thinking about it, that traumatic experience made me work harder. It was after all my first death—it made me want to push myself harder to not let that happen again. The wounds from that day were beginning to close, and although I had fully accepted never knowing whether or not Kelly’s friend turned out to be okay—I found out anyway.
No, I didn’t go investigating—Kelly never once mentioned where she lived, so that was already out of the question. Instead, I bumped into Kelly at a café.
I had just finished ordering a vanilla latte, when a young girl walked up to me.
She had long, wavy light brown hair that was pulled up into a high ponytail, and large dark eyes that made her look like she was in constant shock. Freckles peppered her hopeful face. She looked to be around fifteen. I didn’t recognize her.
“Excuse me, is your name by any chance Robbie?”
I nodded, “Yes, I go by Robbie. I’m sorry, but… Do I know you?”
“Erm… It’s me, Kelly.” She said.
“Oh my god!” I blurted. “How’s your friend? D-did she…”
She shook her head, “Bri? Oh, she’s fine now… I don’t really remember what happened. The policemen that helped me said I fainted and that…” She trailed off for second—as if remembering something. But before I could ask anything—like a rubber band snapping back in place, she was back to normal.
“Anyways, thank god! I thought I recognized your voice, but I was afraid I got the wrong person or you were the wrong Robbie. Are you here with anyone?”
I shook my head, “No, just getting a drink. I’ve got no plans for today. What about you?”
She nodded to the back of the cafe at a small table for two, “I’m actually here with Bri, she’s gotten a lot better. Her parents are taking her to therapy. I’ll introduce her to you!”
I smiled, “Sure.”
She led me to the little table for two and walked up to one of the empty chairs.
“Brianna, meet Robbie, the woman that helped me. Robbie this is Brianna Rose, my best friend.”
I stood there shocked. She was talking to an empty chair. An empty chair.
Brianna Rose…
Where have I heard that before?
REST IN PEACE BRIANNA ROSE 17/9/12
The image of a memorial for a girl who committed suicide flashed through my mind. I would pass it every once and a while when I went to that part of town.
What horrified me most was that Brianna Rose died two months before Kelly’s first call.