I work for a substance abuse recovery program for teenage males. Being the gatekeeper and first responder to the pain and frustration of wits-ended parents is bad enough. (I remember those days well.)
But sometimes, like this morning, adults with substance abuse problems call and they are truly desperate. (The teenagers are having a GREAT time, they really don't get that there's a problem.)
When people actually get a person, they launch into their story (don't you? when you finally get that real person at the bank?).
you me everything; all of the ugly sad stuff just tumbles out. Pain seeps through the telephone wires.
All I can do is give them some phone numbers.
Then cry in the bathroom.