Susan Boyle didn't win Britain's Got Talent on Saturday night because she became the wrong kind of victim. We loved Susan Boyle at first, because she was a pitiful, pathetic, unattractive 48-year-old Scottish virgin who lived with a cat – a strange creature in a dull gold dress, who didn't belong on a stage. And when we heard her singing I Dreamed a Dream at her audition we thought – we can change your life. We can make you happy. We can save you. Behold our kindness, Susan Boyle, and weep tears of happiness.

In Britain's Got Talent it is never simply the talent that wins. It is the journey that wins – the story that the British public deems most worthy of reward. Who from the fetid gutter shall we raise up to be a glittering star? Who will be the most appreciative candidate? At first we thought it must be Susan Boyle, who the tabloids nicknamed "the hairy angel". It is a despicable phrase, but it says everything about what we expected Susan Boyle to be. It means "ugly saint".

But last week Susan Boyle began to step out of her journey. It was reported that she was cracking up under the pressure. The "hairy angel" was becoming aggressive. She wasn't, in fact, an angel, but she was human, and troubled. She apparently swore at a passerby who was bothering her, and even complained to a policeman about it. But, Susan, aren't you ecstatic to be bothered? You have never been bothered before.

She allegedly stormed out of a room, mouthing, "fuck off!" when the judge Piers Morgan praised another singer in the competition. This was not acceptable. This was not in the script.

Susan, we read on, was being counselled by "armies of psychiatrists" as she prepared for the big final on Saturday night. Piers Morgan reported that she had "been in tears repeatedly" and had even packed her bags, ready to walk away from the contest entirely. What's up, Susan Boyle? Don't you feel better after all we have given you? Aren't you grateful?

The anger of Susan Boyle baffled us. It was like realizing that Cinderella didn't have an orgasm on her wedding night - or that Snow White actually hated the dwarves. Once we learned that she was ambivalent about the gift we wanted to give her, it was over. Once we realised that Susan Boyle wasn't just a strange doll, existing for us to project our rescue fantasies onto, but a real person, with real problems and real issues and real bitterness, we rejected her. We somehow felt cheated by her, because we made a deal with her that first night on the stage.

The deal was – we will save you, but you have to be the kind of victim that we want. You have to be blemish-free and passive and inert. You have to be grateful, and you are not allowed to be confused about it. We will rescue you, Susan Boyle, and you will be rescued. You will exist only for your redemption.

Why do we do it? Why can't we deal with a three-dimensional victim who bears all the scars of what made her a victim in the first place?

I think it is because there is only so much guilt we can bear. We don't really want to think about what we did to Susan Boyle, before she even stepped onto the stage. And to all the other Susan Boyles whom we ignored and neglected and mocked, because they are ordinary women, without breast implants or an overt sexuality or Amanda Holden's curiously joyless face. I wrote about this when Britain's Got Talent began. I wrote that we raised this Susan Boyle up, as an excuse for grinding every other Susan into the dust.

When Susan Boyle sang I Dreamed a Dream she offered us a chance to redeem our guilt. But when we realised that we couldn't save her, and that we couldn't make it all right with a stupid television talent show, we dropped her, right back where we found her.

tanyagold2002@yahoo.co.uk