Jeannette Van Houten, who lost her home in Union Beach, said in a telephone interview that she feels like she’s going through the same stages of grief that she endured when her niece was murdered in 2008.
‘‘I have days that I can’t put a thought together. Like you start talking and you forget what you’re saying,’’ said Van Houten, who sleeps just two or three hours on a good night nowadays. ‘‘And the numbness, like you look at things that are happening around you, but you’re not part of it.’’
The Rev. Matthew Dowling, a pastor at the Monmouth Church of Christ in Tinton Falls, N.J., volunteered as a crisis counselor in the days after the storm and heard a lot of survivor’s remorse from people who were more fortunate than their neighbors. But there was also a great deal of frustration.
‘‘When FEMA arrives, they think everything is going to be fixed,’’ Dowling said. ‘‘The reality is it’s going to take months and months to get back to normal. Just like the steps of grief there’s anger at the new normal.’’
Distress calls to LifeNet, New York City’s local crisis hotline, doubled during the first few weeks after the storm hit, averaging more than 2,000 calls per week from people who were angry and worried that basic needs — food, clothing, shelter — had not been met.
Officials are now preparing for a new wave of calls from people struggling with depression and other mental health issues, said Christian Burgess, director of the Disaster Distress Helpline, a national crisis hotline run by the federal government that provides a network of trained counselors in the aftermath of a major disaster.
Coming to grips with the loss of everything she owned has been difficult for Carol Stenquist, who stood outside borough hall in Union Beach, nervously dragging on a cigarette and crying.
‘‘I have anxiety over it. Even when I lay down at night I feel my heart palpitating with the loss of everything,’’ said Stenquist, whose home was destroyed. ‘‘I was there for 20 years.’’
She thinks she needs to talk to a professional counselor, but hasn’t sought one out yet.
‘‘I'm kind of afraid that the emotional stuff I feel now is just part of what I'm going to feel when it’s over,’’ she said. ‘‘I've had my breakdowns, cries, feelings of depression. I've had all of that.’’
On Staten Island, volunteers have been quietly stopping by Anthony Gatti’s tent to check in on him during his long vigil, dropping off boxes of cereal and cans of coffee. A volunteer therapist tried to talk him into leaving, but to no avail. He spends his days patrolling the property for looters and gazing at photos of the storm’s destruction on his laptop.
‘‘I keep trying to make him understand. It’s a lot of wood and metal and pipes, that’s all it is,’’ said his mother, Marge Gatti. ‘‘You've got to get numb. You gotta get tough. If I'm not numb, I can’t function.’’