I'm 29, and I've never told another living person this.
On the surface I'm completely ordinary. I have a decent job, good friends, and if you met me you'd probably describe me as sensible. That's why this feels impossible to admit.
It started years ago, almost by accident. I realised I found the privacy of shop changing rooms strangely exciting. Not because of the rooms themselves, but because they sit in the middle of busy places where everyone assumes you're just trying on clothes.
Now I sometimes catch myself planning shopping trips purely because I know I'll end up in one.
It's never been about anyone else watching. In fact, I'd be horrified if someone walked in. It's the possibility of being discovered that my brain seems unable to let go of. I hate that those are two completely different emotions that somehow exist at the same time.
Every time I promise myself it'll be the last time.
Every time I believe it.
Then, weeks later, I'll find myself carrying a couple of random tops into a changing room I had no intention of using.
Afterwards I usually sit in my car feeling embarrassed with myself. I wonder why I can't just enjoy a normal Saturday without my mind drifting there.
I've tried to understand where it comes from. Maybe it's the secrecy. Maybe it's because it feels like stepping outside the person everyone thinks I am.
I don't know.
What I do know is that writing this is the first time I've ever admitted it, even anonymously.
If anyone ever reads this and quietly thinks, "I understand," then perhaps I won't feel quite so alone anymore.
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