That might not seem like such a big deal, but I had been craving one - secretly - for a while.
Since I began eating more normally (back in February), I found that most foods don't really appeal to me. It's all food, and just fuel to get me back to health.
But that Belgian waffle kept calling my name.
My husband, David, and I would go out to Bob Evans every once in a while, and he almost always ordered a damn Belgian waffle - it was like he knew my secret craving.
I would watch him eating it, and wonder why I didn't feel free enough to eat one of my own.
But you see, I'm still very restrictive about things. As long as I know the approximate calories in my daily bread, I feel safe. As long as I stay between 110 and 112 pounds, I feel safe. Any deviation causes me a lot of anxiety.
So I'm looking at this Belgian waffle today, dabbled with syrup and smeared with margarine and all I could see is - FAT. Globs of fat from the margarine caked inside the fatty pockets of the sweet cream batter that makes up the waffle, and then more fat, via the syrup, soaking into the big FAT mess.
The first few bites were as I had imagined - sweet, crispy and oh, so satisfying.
The next few bites were okay.
The last few bites felt like huge balls of dough making their way to my hips, thighs and stomach, ready to leach on and never let go.
I left the other half of the waffle, pushing away my plate and wishing I could somehow purge myself of what I did consume.
But it was too late.
I've promised myself no more purging, no more restricting, no more anorexia. And I have mostly kept to that promise.
It makes me wonder - will anorexia nip at my brain the rest of my life? Will I ever be able to eat a Belgian waffle, hell, anything, without guilt for wanting to live?