I can no longer put into words what compelled me to start collecting pubic hair from my roommate. I can not articulate a particular motivation. Compulsion is the term that best fits. It is a genuine compulsion.

About 2 years ago is when it began. I was in the shower. Music was playing, because we have one of those speakers that goes on a shower wall. As "Echoes" by Pink Floyd started I noticed a few strands of pubic hair on the shower floor. Not my pubic hair, but the pubic hair of my roommate. For some reason I was completely captivated. I just stared at it. Before I knew it, "Echoes" was over and the shower water had cooled, but I was still staring at his pubic hair. Without thinking much about it, I finally picked the strands up.

I put them into a ziplock bag. That's how it began.

Now, every time I see pubic hair of my roommate, I pick it up and add it to the bag. Over the months it has started to become pretty full. It's a very good collection.

I know it brings my mental condition into question, but I say with all honesty that bag is my most prized possession. When I go to sleep, I put it under the pillow next to me. Every morning I kiss the outside of the bag, just briefly and very tenderly. Putting a new strand into the bag is sort of like a little ritual of mine, it's very comforting. I find that when I become stressed when I am without the bags presence.

Well I made a horrible error today. Usually when I leave my room, I put the bag under my blanket. I don't know what I was thinking, but today I just left it in top of my pillow and I left my door open.

My bad errors coincided with additional bad luck, as when I was in the kitchen my roommate decided to go into my room to borrow my charger, as he foolishly left his at his office. When I returned to my room, I was horrified to see my roommate standing by my bed looking at my bag. I have never in my life experienced such a sensation of overwhelming dread and terror.

I could see by the look on his face that he knew it was his own pubic hair. He did not say any words, he just stared at me. The expression on his face will haunt my mind forever. Forever.

I tried to explain. I can't even recall everything I said. But I can tell you it was incoherent, rambling, stammering...

I know I admitted I'd been doing it for years. I know that.

I remember him asking me, the disgust and confusion in his voice, "Why?"

I could not answer. I started to leave, turned around and practically begged him, tears in my eyes, to just leave the bag alone. Then I left the apartment.

I write this from Starbucks. I am in a state of horrible shame and panic. If he tells other people about this I do not know how I will ever be able to recover my reputation. I do not even know how I will continue to live with him.

I have forced myself to accept that I will no longer be able to collect his hair to add to the bag. But I have to hope that he hasn't thrown it out. That's my fear right now, the safety of the bag. If the bag is safe I can keep it. I'll always keep it. I swear to you I will keep it forever. If I die when I'm 100 you can bet your ass that bag will be on the pillow next to me.

But I am so humiliated. How can I ever face my roommate? It's just too horrible. Too awkward. I feel I am drowning in anxiety.

I believe that I will write an apology to my roommate. I will leave it on his door. And I will move out, when he is at work. In an envelope I will leave the rent for 2 months.

I will move out. I have to move out. But if he tells our friends, I think I will move to an entirely new state. Start fresh.

Why couldn't I have just hidden the bag?