National Eating Disorders Awareness Week 2012 is this week. This year's theme is "Everybody Knows Somebody." According to the National Eating Disorders Association, ten million women and up to one million men have anorexia or bulimia, and millions more struggle with binge eating disorder. That means that you most likely know somebody with an eating disorder.

Who doesn't remember the pictures of a fragile and wan-looking Mary Kate Olsen, draped in a pale lavender gown as she and her twin, Ashley Olsen, received their stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame? The majority of people saw a young woman on the edge of death; clearly too thin, bones protruding. Then there are those of us who were enmeshed in our eating disorders. We saw a gorgeous young woman; someone to aspire to be like. Therein lies the dangers of the media.

I was sixteen and on the edge of puberty when I realized I hated my body. I hated having breasts, and the fact that people actually noticed them. I hated the fact that my stomach was round, my thighs were round, even my hair was too round. I felt awkward and ugly, and that feeling plagues me to this day as I recover from anorexia.

According to The National Center of Addiction and Substance Abuse, up to one half of those with eating disorders — including anorexia, bulimia, and binge eating disorder — abuse alcohol and/or drugs. (see Eating Disorders and Addictions) This is a dangerous combination. I didn't believe it would happen to me — until it did.

On Friday, my psychiatrist told me that a fellow eating disorders patient recently died. To say I was stunned would be an understatement.

I woke up in a cold sweat, terrified. My heart was racing and I was fighting nausea. I was still wearing the clothes I came home in the day before. I reached for my cell phone and quickly called 911. I was panicking and it was difficult for me to talk. I explained what was going on while the dispatcher tried to calm me and get me to take my pulse. Soon the paramedics and police were at my home. I was freezing as they wheeled me out to the waiting ambulance. At the hospital, I told them that I had been in an area hospital for seven days for re-feeding and detox from alcohol and prescription drugs. I noticed a slight change in their attitude as they listened. Soon, I was told that it was caused by withdrawal from benzodiazepines, or tranquilizers. The ER staff then discharged me at 1:30 a.m. I arrived home, confused and wondering if I would ever get better.

It was 3 a.m., January 1, 2012. I had been struggling to sleep for hours. All had did though was constantly shift around in my hospital bed and throw covers on and off, as my head throbbed and waves of heat flushed my face. It left me hot and then freezing cold. It was the last night of my hospital stay and I had gotten progressively sicker in the past few days. The nurses simply told me I must have the flu or something since I had a slight fever and struggled to eat — not a good thing for a recovering anorexic. I pushed the call button for the night nurse, hoping for some relief but knowing I had just taken a pain killer a few hours before and, therefore, there was nothing anyone could do. He brought me a box of tissues as I started crying and tossing around, saying "I guess this is what they call hitting rock bottom, huh?" He told me to go ahead and cry. I had been in the hospital since December 26. It has been both the hardest and most rewarding thing I have ever done.

There are times when your eating disorder and/or other co-morbid illnesses require inpatient psychiatric treatment. In an earlier post, I discussed my decision to enter an inpatient psychiatric hospital for anorexia, alcohol abuse treatment.  In this video, I talk more about why I need inpatient eating disorders treatment.

In February 2010, I entered inpatient treatment for anorexia nervosa, anxiety, and depression. I felt like a complete failure that this was my sixth inpatient admission, and I vowed that it would be my last admission. On Monday, I will once again admit myself to the hospital for six days of psychiatric treatment. It was a difficult decision to make, and one that many of us struggling with eating disorders and co-morbid illnesses often face.

I haven't been sober more than a few days each month since October. I have only eaten a handful of what would be considered real meals in several months. I consume more calories in alcohol than food, and simply admitting that has to be one of the hardest things I have ever done.