The opportunity to volunteer at Trevor came to me at the end of a quest for something that would have a deep and lasting meaning for me and for others. I was seeking an enriching experience that would be of use to those who are in need. I was looking for an outlet and a source of nourishment for the nurturing side of my personality – an aspect that finds little employment in my line of work. Besides, I wanted to be in the company of people who are sincere believers in a worthwhile cause; who are warm, passionate, and compassionate; who are able to suspend their needs - even just for a few hours to take care of the needs of others. After 20 or so shifts over the last few months, I still cannot believe my good fortune at having found all this at The Trevor Project.

My experience at the helpline is, in many ways, similar to that of other counselors who have written of their experiences before. I have heard sadness, loneliness, despair and desperation from callers. I have also heard of strength, courage, wisdom, maturity and will to supersede unfortunate situations. I could narrate numerous such stories. However, I would like to write about calls containing absurdities and oddities. These are calls that contain serious issues and real problems. To be in the caller’s position would be unpleasant at best and horrible at worst. But there is sometimes an element of dark comedy hidden somewhere. I have found that it is useful to help the callers identify this absurd element. Callers are then able to dissociate from the circumstance temporarily – to be in the audience as a spectator rather than on stage as an actor. The shift in perspective helps callers to believe – not just cognitively but subjectively - in a future that does not contain the problems that they are currently facing. They begin to talk about the future as something of a goal rather than a precluded and foreclosed possibility. They are able to lay a path that leads from their present situation to this future that they envision.

It was a very quiet Saturday evening. My co-counselor was on his phone admonishing a prank caller when my phone rang. The caller was a 17-year-old boy living on a farm near a small Midwestern town. There was only one other boy of his age within a 15 mile radius of his house. The caller’s “obviously gay” (caller’s self-identification - not mine) mannerisms earned him the contempt of his school-mates who had begun to bully him. The other boy in his town who had been his friend for several years had distanced himself to avoid being “tainted by association.” The caller was living with his grandmother. His mother, a drug addict, had lost custody of him. He had no contact with the father. The caller had been diagnosed with chronic depression and anxiety, but was not taking medications because his grandmother did not “believe in drugs.” The caller was alone at home and at the point of cutting himself to relieve himself of his affliction and had called for support. As I listened to this story, I kept envisioning the vast plains of the Midwest that I had seen during my cross-country trips. I imagined a tiny house in the middle of the farm – a farm that stretched towards the horizons unobstructed by any other feature. I could see the sky – grey, bleak and blank – entirely in sympathy with the caller. The caller’s voice was flat and unaffected. It didn’t show any particular sadness or anxiety - only resignation and indifference.

After about 20 minutes of the call during which I was asking questions, mirroring his loneliness and offering words of support, I ran out of things to say. I asked him what he would do the following day - Sunday. He said that his grandmother would drive him to town to get his hair dyed blue. I asked if he would drive himself. He replied that his license was revoked since he had hit a cow. I thought that I had heard wrongly and so asked for more information. He explained that it was a dark night and he had been driving for a while on a long, straight, empty road. He didn’t see the cow. The impact had maimed the cow seriously and the car didn’t fare too well either. The farmer was furious because he had to put down the cow and had called the police.

As I listened to the story, my mental vision changed from a bleak, barren surrounding to one of a long, straight road on a quiet night, a heavily damaged car on the shoulder, a bemused blue-haired teenager standing besides it, a rotund red-faced farmer screaming and his arms flailing, a fallen cow lowing pitifully and a perplexed, annoyed policeman trying to bring order. When I told the caller about my vivid mental image, he burst out laughing and said, “Yeah! It was something like that. I mean, c’mon! It was really the cow’s fault! What’s a cow doing on a road at night!”

From that point, the caller’s voice picked up. It moved up in pitch and speed and a normal cadence of speech was restored. He told me more about the incidence. I took this opportunity to ask him about his hobbies and interests. He liked to write songs. We talked at length about what he might do when he turned 18 and what he would like to do as a career. By the end of this topic, the caller was clearly enthusiastic. I then brought him back to the issue of cutting and gave him resources to help him reduce that behavior. We discussed the issue of bullying at school and how he might deal with that. I also extracted a promise that he would call if he felt like cutting. The call lasted about 40 minutes. The caller seemed content and in better spirits at the end.

To be sure, none of the events – hitting a cow, irritating a farmer, getting the driving license suspended – are funny. The overall scenario, however, had an element of weirdness about it, and the caller could find the humor in it. Obviously, this does not work with every call, but if there is some possibly humorous aspect of the callers’ lives, it might be worth bringing to their attention – not as a joke or a curiosity, but as a matter of fact. As one of my high-school math teachers would say – being able to laugh at oneself is a great way to be happy.