The Filth I Long For: A Social Commentary from a Self-Aware Pick-Me Girl
Hey, stranger.
You’d never believe me if I told you what I long for.
I’m sick, abashedly so. They call me sweet, innocent Poppy in real life. I’m the girl people usually look past because she’s too…normal. Kind, straight-laced, wide-eyed Poppy who would give the clothes off her back to anyone who needed it. Poppy who likes crossword puzzles and occasionally going on vacations because she’s been working too much.
Poppy who likes to doom-scroll through her phone and feels bad for wasting time instead of tending her garden.
Poppy who fantasizes tying up people by their necks, kicking the chairs away, and stepping back to admire the sight. I don’t get off to it, but I long for it like someone longs for warm hugs at night. I long to release people from the suffering of this social contagion.
Ayran (pronounced as iron because her parents are quirky and different) is chewing on her lip, watching the ads for “mate bonds” on her phone. A love drug, one would argue, but it was just a cocktail of chemicals that made people horny. Some people also say that it makes you fall in love with the first person you see. People shoot it up like heroin nowadays.
“What do you think? Should I get it?” Her shaking, excited thumb hovers over the “BUY NOW” button.
I lean over to her, scanning the screen like I am interested. It doesn’t matter what I say. Ayran always buys it. She has this fear of missing out.
“It’s the latest trend?” I ask politely.
“Everyone’s doing it,” she almost sounds like she’s frothing at the mouth.
“It’s expensive.” I point out. Ayran’s chronically broke, but always has the new things. From the cups, to the ugly dolls you chain to your bag, to the latest thing to shoot up. She’ll always have it.
Her thumb touches the large green button.
“I did it. I ordered it.” She announces like I wasn’t just watching. She’s shaking with excitement from the purchase. Maybe in her mind, people are applauding her for it. The hit of dopamine.
You see it, right? What a FOMO whore.
Now, I’m completely aware of what I sound like to you. A judgmental, hypercritical piece of shit…but at least I’m not like them. A mindless victim to their phones. A slave to social media and shallow, instant gratification. At least, I’m aware.
If I say these words out loud, I know what I will be called. A pick-me girl. The girl who is not like other girls. But I don’t want to be labeled, so I just have to keep my mouth shut. It’s easy and entertaining being this faultfinding spectator.
When I clock out, Ayran’s on her phone for our company-mandated therapy session. The suggested schedule is bi-weekly, but I have mine weekly. Why?
I guess, you can say, I have a thing for him, my therapist.
No, not in that way…I just find him fascinating. He’s…not like other men. He understands the social contagion, but does nothing to combat it—much like me. He likes to watch.
With the internet the way it is right now, you wouldn’t know how easy it was for me to find his home address. His two kids’ names, his wife’s. His one cat and dog. The bitch he talks to online when his wife is asleep.
He knows what he’s doing—he just can’t help himself. Like me, he has secret longings that the real world can’t provide. What his wife can’t provide.
“What do you find hard in building relationships?” he asks me, his voice deep and professional.
You know I’ll never tell him the truth.
“I feel like they’re always so shallow. So fleeting. I’m scared to put my heart into someone and end up getting hurt.”
Through the screen, I see him look down to his lap. What do you think he’s doing?
My phone vibrates in my pocket, a familiar sound interrupting the silence.
Ooops. Pretending like I hear nothing, I turn my volume completely down.
His eyes shoot up again to the screen, his neck beginning to redden.
“We’ve been through this before, right, Poppy? Unless you make an attempt to change, nothing’s going to happen.”
Landon’s voice has changed. You can hear that he’s a little irritated at me.
“I know, I’m sorry, doctor.”
Landon’s my therapist IRL, but behind closed doors—when his wife is asleep—he likes to be humiliated. Degraded like a filthy, disgusting slut.
He knows his bitch knows he’s cheating. He knows she doesn't care. You know what he doesn’t know? That I’m that bitch.
During our session, he’s hitting up my DM’s. Asking me when I’m free for a voice chat. Whenever he asks that, I know what he wants. What he longs for.
“I know it can be incredibly challenging, but this is what I’m here for, Poppy. I know it’s a bit of a stretch to say that you can’t open up, but…” he says a bunch more droning nonsense. I know what’s coming next. He’s about to tell the time and end the session.
Did you know our company pays him handsomely for these thirty-minute sessions? Truly, these charlatans are just raking in cash for just listening to people whine.
Landon’s in a hurry to hop off the call and my phone keeps buzzing. He’s calling his bitch right now. I almost smile at this. Once our session ends, I don’t answer his call. I let it sit there for a few minutes as I prepare my dinner.
I don’t do food ordering apps. I cook my own food. That’s how people get fat, ordering from these companies that use too much processed ingredients. Mine are home-grown, some bought fresh from Erewhon. With their curated minimalist display shelves and overpriced goods, it makes me feel I’m better than everyone else.
Poppy is the kind of person who definitely pays more for organic butter and gluten-free kale smoothie just for the experience.
My sparkly, sharp fake nails clack on my kitchen counter. I had my nails done just because I wanted it…not because of the trend. The FOMO. God, no. I’m no Ayran.
When my phone rings again, excitement shoots up my spine. Landon’s calling again. It’s been a while since his first call, so I answer now.
“What do you want?” Did you know he likes it when I’m mean to him?
“You haven’t been picking up.”
“I’m busy!” The fact that I never change my voice with Landon is testament enough to how much he doesn’t care who he’s talking to.
“I can’t do this anymore, Yana.”
Yana. The bitch’s name. My alter-ego. My heart drops at this.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” You see it coming, my crashdown.
“It’s been fun and all, but I’m—I don’t know—getting attached.”
Oh.
He continues, sounding resigned, “I’ve told you all about myself, but I never hear the same from you. I feel like this unrequited shit is just a show…”
It’s not but I’ll make him think it is. “I’m not sure what you want from me.”
“I want more, Yana. Not just this…roleplaying.”
I’m not even sure what prompted this, I’ve been very careful how I speak to him. Set boundaries and shit. My face is twitching and my hands turn cold.
My mind races. An idea crosses my mind. A very risky one, but brilliant all the same. My heartrate is spiking up at my anticipation.
“What are you willing to do for it, Landon?” My voice is low and reedy.
“God, anything. I’ll do anything. Just…let me see you. I’ll get on a flight.”
My eyes narrow on my nails as I pick on nonexistent dirt…but honestly? I’m…zealous. Embarrassingly so.
“Shame. You’re a bad husband and father. I’m afraid that won’t translate well if you’re with me. You’ll cheat on me, too. Leave me, too.”
“I swear, I won’t.” He’s growing increasingly desperate.
I like it. I want to taste it. My hand wraps around my neck, tightening my hold. The rush of blood in my ears is almost deafening.
His earlier words ring in the awkward silence. Unless you make an attempt to change, nothing’s going to happen.
“Let me come to you.” Landon begs.
“And you will do anything?”
“Anything.”
A wide smile spreads across my lips. I’m dealt a good hand here.
I give him an address, and add, “I’ll see you tomorrow here. Don’t be late.”
I’ve told you already, right? What I long for the most? Well, it turns out I’m wrong…what I long for the most is somebody to do it on their own free will because I say so.
Oh, what a rush.
So when the time comes when he knocks on our booked room, I have a surprise ready for him. It’s tied by the beam on the ceiling. I made sure it’s sturdy enough to hold his weight.
To tell you honestly, I’m too excited to think of consequences so when I open the door, I’m not prepared for Landon to completely bulldoze me and stab me with a syringe.
I am horrified as I fight against him, watching as the pink liquid slowly oozes into my veins like sickly sweet poison.
Mate bonds. I panic and squirm.
Now that you’ve seen me act so stupidly, I’ll have you know this is the only time I fucked up as badly… Definitely my first time.
I kick and scream, but he covers my mouth. His body is pinning me to the floor, his eyes wide and manic.
“Now you’ll do whatever the fuck I want.” He sounds victorious. Like he’s just conquered Troy—not this unwilling woman.
I shake my head, writhe, twist, but he’s just all over me. The only thing I can move is my eyes, so I close them…but I hear sounds. Sounds that will be the death of me.
Notifications. One after another, an intoxicating pingpingping that consumed my entire person. When it stops, I almost cry out. The mate bonds have laid their claim, and it’s the endless barrage of notifs.
Fuck. Me.
Landon finally recognizes who I am and he jumps back. Scrambles away from me.
“Poppy?”
I withdrew the syringe from my neck and thumbed the wound. Sticky. It doesn’t even glide well. I feel it curdle in my veins like a stroke.
“Surprise!” I grit out. “Unless you make an attempt to change, nothing’s going to happen. That’s what you said. So I took you up on your offer.”
Landon’s a handsome man—probably a reason why I’d attached myself to him like a tumor. I just really am not used to attention from men who look like him.
“You don’t look like your picture,” he says.
I can see him wincing and cringing inside. I can hear his disappointment like a wrench in my gut.
“You idiot, of course I don’t look like my pictures!” For once, our roles have reversed and now, I was the one humiliated.
Him being quiet was just as worse than me degrading him. I can’t take it. I’m so fickle that I can’t stand myself. I just want this all to end.
Like he’d just had an epiphany, he robotically stands up, turning to leave. He doesn’t say a word, not even giving me a glance back. I am…frantic.
“Go ahead! You hypocrite! You cheat on your wife but can’t stand the thought of jerking off to a patient! Pick a struggle!” I shriek.
Alone in the room, I feel the world cave in. Narrowing into the sounds of my phone. I don’t even care about Landon anymore, I just want to snort that line of cocaine that’s my notifs.
I’ve evolved again. Do you know what I long for the most now?
My eyes find the noose and the live button on the app. I want my high and I want it now. As I angled my phone by the noose and tapped “START LIVE,” I’m brought to another world where I’m coming undone.
I am heady as the phantom orgasm hovers close. My skin is tingling and burning like I just blew an abscess. God, I want to rake my skin until they just slide off in sloughs. My need for it has become absurd but I don’t care. I’m chasing that high.
I dress myself with the rope like a necklace and kick off the chair. I hear it all—the spamming attention, validation, and hate thrown my way. As I watch myself on the screen writhe with the rope around my neck, I am coming alive while losing my life. I had never been happier.
RIP Poppy who committed sewerslide with a smile on her face.
This. This is the filth I long for the most.
Posted Nov 3, 2025, 8:58 PM UTC