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Bright is the Black Night
Bright is the Black Night
Bright is the Black Night
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Bright is the Black Night

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Beneath Ilse-Kim's perfect image lies a dark secret: a secret she shamefully struggles to keep under control as it slowly destroys her life. Two illnesses have sunk their teeth deep into her soul, slowly ripping her apart and obliterating all hope for a peaceful existence or a loving relationship with the man of her dreams.

As she navigates her way through life and love, she risks her heart in the hope of finding true love. Her journey, supported by her loving family and treasured friends, exposes the razor's edge of bipolar disorder and bulimia, and how these disorders annihilate healthy relationships. Yet, despite the wake of destruction and overwhelming challenges, unbreakable bonds are formed.

Ilse-Kim Cullen unveils the hidden truth and stigmas behind both illnesses. She is the voice that we have all been waiting for – a voice for the broken victims who crave to be heard, and a voice for their loved ones who are often left confused in the mayhem and complexity of bipolar disorder and bulimia.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateAug 28, 2017
ISBN9781386578086
Bright is the Black Night
Author

Laetitia Booysen

Laetitia Booysen holds a BA degree with a major in Sport Science and Psychology, as well as a PGCE in Educational Psychology and Sports Sciences from the University of Stellenbosch. In 2009, she worked at a state hospital alongside a Clinical Psychologist and during this time she developed a passion for psychology and human behavior. She went on to complete an Honours degree in Psychology at her Alma Mater in 2010. Laetitia suffered from bulimia nervosa during her teen years and into her mid-twenties. In 2010, she was also diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Her personal experience with both illnesses motivated her to study both in her Honours year. 

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    Book preview

    Bright is the Black Night - Laetitia Booysen

    Introduction

    Turn to the side, my ballet teacher instructed me. I stood in front of my fellow eager seven-year-old ballerina classmates. I slowly shuffled my beige leather ballet shoes to the side whilst I fiddled uncomfortably with my pink leotard and big blonde bun. Now girls, look at her bum, it is so big I can sit on it. She looks like a chair!

    I tilted my chin upwards, stared straight ahead and avoided the other girls’ eyes. I had to be Daddy’s brave little girl! My ballet teacher leaned down, pressed her back on to mine and pretended to sit on my bum.

    Laetitia, you need to lose weight. You will never be a successful ballerina if you are fat.

    It was at that moment, at the age of seven, that I started associating success with outer beauty and being thin. It was only one sentence uttered from a teacher’s mouth, but that single sentence, at that young and vulnerable age, changed the way I saw myself and the world. My happiness was suddenly determined by the number that a scale reflected. I fell head over heels in love with the idea of being slender. But this wasn’t a romantic and healthy love, but rather an obsession that viciously destroyed my life for thirteen years.

    My bulimia began when I was thirteen years old. I was defeated during those years, crushed and small. Unfortunately, bulimia wasn’t my only addiction during my teen years. At the age of sixteen, I began to self-harm so as to alleviate my overwhelming emotions. When I was twenty-three, I was officially diagnosed with an illness that scares most people and carries much stigma – bipolar disorder. These years are what I like to refer to as the ‘brutal years’!

    During my formative years I was solely focused on one thing; to simply survive – minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. My family used to sit with me, whilst I broke down in tears, asking me why I would hurt myself the way I did. Their emotions ranged from utter rage to severe heartache. They tried to make sense of my behaviour, but how could they? We lived in a world where the diagnoses of bipolar disorder labelled you as ‘one of the crazies’ and bulimia was something that only models suffered from. These were things that only happened to other people – not to us! Our family was the depiction of society’s ideal family – a good family. How could this have happened to us?

    Nothing cut as deep as knowing that I was responsible for my beloved family’s pain. Guilt would consume me, yet I could not stop! I was overwhelmed by so many emotions. I could never find the right words to explain to my family what was going on in my heart. Instead, I simply kept quiet, desperately wishing they would somehow understand.

    Then one day I began writing. I decided that the main character in my story would have bipolar disorder and bulimia. In that moment, I decided that through the power of the pen, I would attempt to open myself up to my family – to show them how the mind of a person with bipolar disorder and bulimia processes life. The main character would be based on me and, through this narrative, I would explain how my thought processes would often fuel my reckless and dangerous behaviour. I finally found a way to articulate my distressing and conflicting emotions so that my family could better understand me. So that they would know how to help and support me. So that we could be united as a family once again.

    My manuscript started off as a personal journey, but quickly transformed into something so much greater. Throughout the years, I have met so many people who have struggled with the same issues as my family and I. They, too, couldn’t answer the ‘why’ question of bipolar disorder and bulimia. Despite having read many highly-specialised academic textbooks, the lengthy descriptions and scientific terms meant as little to them as it did to my family and I. So many books would deliver ‘typical’ examples of what happens, for example: people with bipolar disorder often stop taking their medication, but failed to provide explanations of how these symptoms manifest themselves in our daily lives and why sufferers do what they do!

    There were no realistic, honest examples of what the day-to-day life of a person suffering from bipolar disorder and bulimia looks like. There was no mention of the dark cloud under which they live, or the way that sometimes their days would seem as black as the night.

    It dawned on me that my family and I were not the only ones fighting this exact battle. I asked myself a couple of important questions: how many other mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives, boyfriends and girlfriends, friends and colleagues were out there struggling to understand these complex disorders? How many loving relationships had been destroyed due to a failure in understanding these disorders? These questions challenged me and provided a new dimension to my life and illnesses that I needed to explore.

    All too often, I hear well-meaning, educated people use blasé statements such as: People with severe disorders, such as bipolar disorder and bulimia, may need to be hospitalized or Individuals with bipolar disorder struggle with boundaries and can often be unstable. These statements may be true, but even the most educated person sometimes forgets that behind the disorder, behind the ruthless labels and swiping statements, lies a person! A person just like anyone else – someone who has dreams and goals, doubts and insecurities, who oscillates between weakness and inconceivable strength. Most importantly, there’s a person who is crying out to be loved, accepted and understood.

    As humans, we all have one thing in common: we all hope and strive for longer, deeper, lasting relationships. My hope and dream for this book is to help families reunite, to become whole again. My hope is to show couples that bipolar disorder and bulimia won’t necessarily destroy a loving relationship – that you can have a deep, meaningful relationship with someone, regardless of the challenges.

    I wrote this book for those who have not yet found their voice and for their loved ones. I hope it will give you a glimpse into the life of someone suffering from these disorders.

    Telling my story, is by far the most terrifying thing that I have ever done, but if I can help even one person out there, then my journey with bipolar disorder and bulimia will have served a higher purpose for which I can be proud of.

    Prologue

    My tears filled the bathroom basin. They were large, black tears of pain. I stared at them as they streaked down the sides of the porcelain bowl, each one embodied the vast range of emotions I felt – feelings of guilt, remorse and disbelief. I cried uncontrollably and each tear felt more painful than the last. The weeping left me weary and exhausted until, finally, I had nothing more to give. I felt utterly drained. Empty.

    I, thirty-year-old Ilse-Kim Cullen, looked up for the first time. I gazed at the unfamiliar, unkempt face reflected in the bathroom mirror – at the black mascara streaking down my cheeks and at my dark blue eyes which held so many memories and stories waiting to be told. The ends of my long blonde hair, soaked by my tears, clung to my neck and my body trembled with pain.

    After an hour of incessant sobbing, I decided it was time to rein in my emotions. I tried to pull myself together, to calm down, but my heartbreak slowly turned to anger. I tore some toilet paper off the roll, placed it under a trickle of running water and began to clean my face. I wiped at the mascara stains firmly until all traces of my pain had been erased. Throwing the sullied piece of tissue in the dustbin, I hurried to the bathroom door. I paused momentarily, inhaled deeply and then, grasping the door handle firmly, I pulled the door open.

    A sharp light shone directly into my eyes, blinding me. As the light contracted, I realised there were photographers everywhere! I wrestled through the crowd as questions were shouted at me from all directions.

    Ilse, what happened?

    What about the wedding, Ilse-Kim?

    Is it true what people are saying about Ben and you?

    I tried to ignore the questions whilst I pushed forward. But there was one voice in particular that caught my attention: Ilse, do you believe in the ever-loving, all-powerful God? The Almighty who seems to be in charge of everything? Do you think that He was in charge of today?

    The words were like a dagger to my heart. I tried to form an answer, to find any familiar or reassuring words, but I couldn’t find the words. I had no strength in me. Instead, I hung my head in shame and kept walking…

    One

    On Top of the World with Hypomania

    nine years earlier

    My heart was beating fast, as if it were a horse galloping wildly in my chest. I could feel my blood pumping through each part of my body, filling me with energy. I felt charged up and ready to explode. It felt wonderful!

    Ilse, are you crazy? It’s ten o’clock in the evening! All the students are going out now. Everyone will see you!

    Alli has always been the mother hen in our relationship – she exudes compassion and care. From the moment we met as first-year students in our residence at Stellenbosch University, I knew we’d be best friends. She is, without a shadow of doubt, the most wonderful friend anyone could ever ask for. And with her long, black, wavy hair, tanned skin and bright green eyes, she could easily be Pocahontas’ twin!

    Ilse, I was only joking when I said it would be funny if you stripped down and ran through the streets naked. I really didn’t mean it!

    "Alli, we’re young; we’re students! This isn’t only a time for growth and learning, but also a time for us to live a bit and to do crazy things! In fact, it is our duty as students to do as many ridiculous things as possible so that when we look back on our university days, we can say we really lived!"

    Ok, but there are other ways to live without taking your clothes off and streaking down the street.

    Alli, I’m going to do it. All you need to do is drive slowly next to me. In fact, stay a little bit ahead of me in case the police come and I have to jump back into the car.

    I laughed excitedly as I took off my shirt and trousers, and tossed them onto the back seat.

    Maybe I’ll just run in my underwear. Are you ready, Alli? I’m going to count to three and then jump out of the car and start running. Just stay with me! One…Two…Three! I jumped out of the car, laughing loudly, and began to run. The energy propelled me forward, and although each stride was faster than the last, I felt as if my legs weren’t moving fast enough for my liking.

    The first car drove past me. Two sets of widened eyes stared at me. I laughed and increased my speed. A second car drove past me, but this time one passenger flipped me the bird whilst another covered their mouth with their hand in shock. I couldn’t make out who was laughing more – Alli or I. A third car rushed past me, and the male passenger poked his head out the window, shouting loudly, whilst the driver hooted wildly.

    I felt so free. I was really doing this! I didn’t notice the shocked faces whizzing by. I didn’t hear the enthusiastic cat-calling and whistling from the first-year students who thought they were in heaven. I didn’t notice the adults shaking their heads, irritated by ‘the youth of today’. All I felt was each of my muscles rhythmically contracting and relaxing, and I breathed in the night air as I inhaled and exhaled deeply. The noise around me faded away and the only sound I heard was my heart thumping in my ears. I was free!

    Get in the car, Kimi! It’s the police!

    My thoughts came into sharp focus when I saw the blue lights of the police car. I burst out laughing as I ran to Alli’s car and jumped in.

    Drive, Alli! Drive!

    As Alli raced through the streets, I couldn’t stop laughing. Although she laughed along with me, her laughter sounded troubled. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, and her eyes stared ahead without blinking.

    Alli! Alli! Here they come!

    Crap. If they catch me, I’m dead! My father will kill me!

    They can’t do anything to you, Alli. Don’t worry. You did nothing wrong. I’m the one who ran through the streets in my underwear. I’ll be the one to get into trouble.

    Ilse, they’ll likely check to see if you’re drunk. And then they’ll assume that I’m drunk-driving. Luckily, we haven’t had any alcohol, so at least they can’t take us to prison.

    The blue-light edged closer as if it were a lion stalking prey. Neither Alli nor I could breath and we froze, not making the slightest movement in case it attracted their attention.

    We drove slowly, stopping at the red traffic light. We sat there, absolutely still, staring at the light, urging it to turn green. The police car finally came to a standstill next to us.

    I suddenly felt incredibly alone. Alli, the policemen and I seemed to be the only people in the world. The streets were empty, everything was quiet. Neither of us spoke and the only sound was a song by Lifehouse playing softly on the radio.

    I stared intently at the traffic light as if it would turn green faster if I gazed at it long and hard enough. I imagined it to be a battle of wills between my eyes and the ‘red eye’ of the traffic light. Though his ‘red eye’ stared hard at me, I would not relent nor turn away. I stared back but still the ‘red eye’ wouldn’t give in. It refused to turn green.

    Time stood still – each second felt like an hour. Finally, I turned my head slightly, tilting it in the direction of the police car just a little, to see if the policemen were aware of Alli and I at all. I moved my eyes to the right at first, then slowly let my head follow…

    The

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