Dear author of my book,

Look, I don't know what I did to you, but you need to stop.

I'm convinced that you are a sadist. These past few months that you've so generously written for me have been actual torture--and you know that, of course, because you're the author. You wrote all that fun stuff in for some reason. I don't know why exactly you like to see me suffer, but I'd just like to let you know that it isn't very nice. In fact, it kind of makes me hate you. A lot.

I know I should be grateful that you didn't write me into some terrible plague-ridden apocalyptic state or whatever; however, there was no need for you to write me into a dramatically angsty small-town high school, either. Furthermore, you did not need to make me a codependent mess of a person, nor did you need to make the only person I trusted enough to love leave me. You also didn't have to make him start going out with one of the girls he repeatedly told me not to worry about in our relationship. At the very least, you could've made me not care.

And author, even if you did have to do all that, why did you force all those helpless thoughts and feelings into my head that I couldn't do anything about? What did that even accomplish? I'm sorry, but did making me cry myself to sleep every night progress the plot in any way? Did making me search desperately for someone to help me move on do anything to my character arc? How about the crippling loneliness that made me incapable of getting out of bed most mornings? How about the pit of anxiety in my stomach that grew every time I saw him in the halls? How about the inability to let go of feelings that will never be returned to me? What did that even do other than cause me unnecessary pain and suffering?

I don't understand you, author. I don't know why you hate me so much, and I don't know why you want everyone else to hate me, too, but I'm begging you: please tell me you're going to twist things eventually so I have an unexpected happy ending.

Or, at least, please don't tell me I have a bad one, because then I'll be able to figure it out on my own just a little too late. Just how you like it!

Forever your toy,

Liz