Butterflies Come Out of Darkness

Yolanda Morrissette (she/her/hers)
Yolanda Morrissette, contributor, wearing a colorful v-neck top and three necklaces, with curly red hair and multiple nose rings, against a neutral background

Yolanda has come to realize her mental illness is not a death sentence. Instead, she has found joy in sharing her story and in helping others learn about childhood trauma, its associated mental health challenges, and how to manage it.

Content notice
This story contains references to:
  • Suicide
Yolanda Morrissette, contributor, wearing a colorful v-neck top and three necklaces, with curly red hair and multiple nose rings, against a neutral background

Looking back on my mental health issues, I never knew I was mentally ill until after I recovered from drugs and alcohol. I was in therapy and had all these emotions coming up, but I wasn’t able to put the pieces together. I thought that I was crazy, but once I understood more about my childhood trauma and began to address it, I could begin to heal. 

Hitting rock bottom as an addict was painful, depressing, and excruciating. Looking back, I used drugs to numb the pain from my childhood trauma and my suicidal thoughts. I was so depressed and angry, but I also knew that I needed help. I felt deeply that eventually I could live a productive life and be an asset to my community and to others suffering. But, throughout the years, I have struggled with alcoholism, incarceration, and bad relationships.

I was married for 10 years, but I wasn’t taught how to be a supportive wife. I was an absent mother due to my drug use.

Maybe if I had received help earlier, things would have been different.

Woman looking downward at her reflection in a mirror, with a pile of pills scattered on top of it.

The ringing of a phone on the bus triggered my PTSD and led me to realize that I was suffering from a mental illness. It made me feel angry, depressed, and suicidal. I had planned out how I wanted to die, but I never told a soul. I wanted to get high, have a steak and shrimp dinner, dress very pretty, get a motel, and then just take some pills and tap out. 

I had a brother who died by suicide in this way, but I decided that I did not want to leave the earth like this. I found this strength after struggling for so many years. At the time, I met someone who believed in me and offered help. I got clean and decided to expunge my criminal record and get off the streets. 

I lost my mother to liver cancer in November 2012, one week before Thanksgiving. I was able to get clean one year before her passing. I just couldn’t do the drug scene anymore. I was on Prozac and had been living in a San Francisco shelter for one year. I had just moved into my own single-room occupancy and my mother was dying.

The Oakland Bay Bridge in San Francisco.

Luckily, I was able to wean myself off my meds and started working out. In the beginning, I weighed 200 lbs. I was still depressed because I suffered from anxiety, depression, and PTSD. But I found that through Zumba and helping others, I was able to show that I am a survivor. I eventually moved into my own apartment.

I have spoken to college students about childhood trauma and mental illness, and how they can affect you as an adult. I also spoke at a press conference with the mayor of San Francisco, London Breed, last September at South of Market Health Center, where I had been a client from 2015 to 2019. I received an award from the district attorney for my work in poetry about domestic violence. I have also collaborated on projects with Women Against Rape and Violence. I am a graduate of Standing Against Global Exploitation, and I just finished the drug and alcohol program at my local city college. I am in an internship now and will be pursuing my associate’s degree in health education.

Knowing that others are experiencing what I’m going through erases the feeling that I’m losing my mind or that I’m crazy.

Yes, I still suffer, but I am able to manage my suffering with self-care. Being honest with myself and others helps.

Young students in a classroom engaged in a lesson from a teacher.

My parents should have gotten me help, but they failed me there. Obviously, they were suffering themselves, didn’t understand what was going on, or they ignored it. I’ll never know. But I can’t blame them any longer. Maybe they didn’t know how to help. 

I also later found out mental illness runs through my family, but it’s a hidden secret that has been pushed under the rug. Since then, I have realized it’s not a death sentence and, for me, can be managed through diet, medication, or exercise. I have grown and changed tremendously by speaking to students about childhood trauma, its association with mental health issues as an adult, and how you can overcome and manage it. I’m no longer ashamed or afraid. I tell my story for inner growth and to help others. After getting help, I realized that, by telling my story, I could help others, which in turn would bring me joy. 

About the contributor

Yolanda Morrissette is from Little Rock, Arkansas. She has lived in San Francisco since 2004. She works as a peer specialist and is an advocate for survivors of domestic violence and people experiencing housing insecurity. She is also a poet and is working on her first book.