Tights and insanity

So I’m new, but probably not so new in what I’ll be saying. But I have found myself in such a permanent state of quiet hysteria that I felt like I needed to talk out loud about this somehow, even if in writing. I’m not sure what I’m hoping for; advice, maybe. Catharsis, I doubt it. I don’t know, I just don’t feel like I’m coping now.
Ever since I can remember I have had a very intense fetish for tights/pantyhose.
Back in my formative years (early teens onwards) this was barely something I could recognise despite my awareness of it. It’s easy now to think that back then I wasn’t quite so obsessed as I am now, but we all know what tricks time plays on our memories. What is certainly true is that I didn’t always indulge it. Somehow, the other things in growing up took over (friends, drinking, university, hobbies, writing, looking for love).
Now, at 35, I feel like I am genuinely on the brink of madness. I am behaving ridiculously, erratically, desperately. I am unable to pass a girl in the street who is wearing tights without stopping and looking after her. If somebody is stood still, I linger, hovering, spying. If a girl is sat on the bus or the train, I try to bag a vantage point, hoping she will uncross her legs. It is insane and maniacal behaviour and I can’t stop it. I make time for it whatever the cost – whether it makes me late for work or makes me miss my train. If I’m alone I can find myself dragged around by this desire for hours. If I have company I am even making excuses to indulge the habit surreptitiously.
What am I thinking about when I look at them? I’m preoccupied by the feet, I suppose. There is nothing more exhilarating in life I find than the smell of a girl’s feet in worn tights. Even the mere thought, the mere mention of it here, sets my heart racing. So I see a girl showing half a length of leg and I’m just hooked, wondering what it would be like to ravish her legs and feet, dreaming up the scenario, and then erupting in subdued but supreme despair and frustration that she is not mine and never will be and it will never come to fruition.
The irony is that I have a girlfriend who I love dearly and have been with for 12 years (we are to marry next month), and it makes me feel so lost and hopeless. She is well aware of my fetish and shares in it with me as much as she is able (I do not insist on tights all of the time and have always been very careful to put her first and not make her feel objectified), and even enjoys it to some degree. But, slowly, it has turned out not to be enough. I feel heartbroken and gutted at the sight of every girl I see in tights who I would like to sleep with. This is a crazy number that can amount to 20 or 30 in one day, even more if I am socialising at night. It seems almost ludicrous to say this with a straight face but everywhere I look in shops I’m seeing nylon advertised everywhere because the seasons are getting colder, and it’s terrifying the living $#%^ out of me. I just can’t carry on like this. I feel shockingly pathetic for indulging this impossible and unrequited desire perpetually around unwitting girls who have no idea what I’m thinking. I feel ashamed of the fact that the kind and attractive partner I have is not enough. I feel maddened beyond belief, like I don’t know where it will end.

One day I loved this fetish. It was invigorating and breathtaking, it made me more alive than anything else. Now it’s making me feel like I want to be dead.
I know that as fetishes go this could be a hell of a lot worse (reading what others have to tolerate being fixated on). Christ, I mean, foot fetishes are almost normal these days. But the intensity is the thing. The disruption is the thing.
I know I cannot click my fingers, see a shrink or take some medicine to shake this out of me, and in all honesty I’m not sure I would want to, but I don’t know where to turn now, I feel like I need to somehow harness it but I have no idea how.

###$ me, there's nothing like advice is there. 72 views and not a word. Cheers, folks.