Second in an occasional series.

At 7:25 a.m. on Feb. 20, Dan Perry arrived at work at his Malvern industrial-parts company, as he always did.

Five minutes later, Perry's weeping supervisor told him that the company had eliminated his job of four years.

By 7:35, Perry was back in the parking lot, holding a box containing a few items from his desk. In the gut-punch moments of nascent unemployment, Perry looked up at the sky and asked, "What just happened to me?"

The married 49-year-old executive with two teenage children was filled with a cold dread.

"I lost my job, and I can't provide for my family," he told himself. "I'm a failure."

In this dismal, down-bound economy, Perry's plight is repeated throughout the region.

Joblessness continues to disrupt lives in nearly every sector, as about 210,000 people in the eight-county area find themselves without work, part of 13.2 million Americans now unemployed nationwide.

But while the Philadelphia region is papered with pink slips, a layoff can still hit with the potent surprise of an unforeseen meteor.

People who expected to be laid off still report feeling shock when it happens. It can impact a person with nearly the same emotional blow as a death. And it can produce a kind of post-traumatic stress.

"Unemployment is a psychologically devastating experience," said Carl Van Horn, a Rutgers University professor of public policy who studied the damage of unemployment. "It's like having a chronic disease."

Shame, fear, and panic can barge into a person's head after the initial trauma, noted Seymour Adler, an organizational psychologist with Aon Consulting in New York.

"I feel like I'm in the wilderness," said Cynthia Townsend, a 57-year-old Mount Airy phlebotomist who hasn't worked in months. "Depression comes when you start to feel alone."

What is different about unemployment in this economy is that the Great Recession is taking out people who thought they'd made themselves recession-proof - professionals ages 45 to 55 in fields such as human resources and financial services.

"We tell people, 'Go to college. Keep your nose to the grindstone,' " said Cheryl Spaulding, president of the nonprofit Joseph's People in Downingtown, which helps jobless people. " 'If you stay inside the box, you'll be successful.'

"Now people say, 'I did everything right. It's not fair.' It's as though society broke a covenant with them."

Any companies with openings can now be more selective mulling the legions of overqualified job candidates. As a result, job seekers wait longer to hear back from potential employers.

"It becomes psychologically torturous," said Sharon Imperiale, president of Career Concepts, a career-transition firm in Blue Bell.

"We're in a place we've never been before, which makes people absolutely terrified," Spaulding said.

"There's a gripping fear that comes," said Keith Brender, 48, who recently lost his job as an executive at a Horsham financial-services company. "There's a huge unknown out there."

Children's reactions

It was silent in Dan Perry's house, and daytime quiet always unnerves him. Eleven o'clock in the morning is no time for a worker to be home, he tells himself.

One recent day, he stalked the rooms of his modest house decorated with family photos, no kids or wife about. "It's eerie, weird," he said. "I'm used to hubbub. It's just a house, not a home, when I'm here alone in the day."

Searching for work, he sat at a computer beside the glass case that holds his daughter's boa constrictor, Kaa. No jobs announced themselves. Kaa dozed, and Perry soon went off again to pace his own cage.

One evening not long ago, Perry saw his daughter, Rebekah, 16, typing up the lesson plans of her advanced-placement history teacher.