Warning: This article contains spoilers for The OA Season 2, and also a gross amount of hyperbole.

Hey, Netflix. How’s it going? How was your weekend? Did you spend it deciding to murder a beautiful, intricate TV show that ended on a tantalizing cliffhanger in cold blood? You did? Cool. Sorry, did I say, “Cool?” What I meant to say was, “How could you possibly do this to me, and only me!?”

In case you missed it, today Netflix canceled its mystery supernatural drama The OA after two seasons, and after ending Season 2 on one of the most jaw-dropping twists in recent TV history. Here’s the thing: I have no speech about representation or what this TV show meant to me, personally. Intellectually, I understand that The OA was undoubtedly an expensive show. I realize that—despite the fact that I told you how good it is—very few people watched Season 2. I know that Netflix is a business, I know it all comes down to the numbers, I know capitalism rules us all, blah, blah, blah. But, respectfully, if The OA doesn’t get picked up and I am never given resolution on that cliffhanger, I will cease to exist. My soul will leave this saggy flesh sack I call a body, and nothing, not even Jason Isaacs doing an interpretative dance, will be able to revive me. So let’s just go ahead and un-cancel the show, OK, Netflix? Because I would really love to keep living.

Created by Zal Batmanglij and Brit Marling (who also stars as the series’ lead), The OA was not like other TV shows. The OA was weird and sincere, bonkers and beautiful, spiritual and at times, religious, but never, ever preachy. It took big swings and never apologized for that. It was art. Like most great art, The OA made you work for it. Season 2 was, in some ways, a meandering disaster. More than once, I felt the impatient urge to skip through scenes. Who has the time for delayed gratification in the year 2019, when my favorite form of entertainment is still six-second Vines? But if you pushed through to the end—if you watched that finale—it was absolutely worth the wait. Did it tie together all the loose ends? Did it always make perfect sense? Was the giant, all-knowing octopus ever explained? No, no, and no, but it somehow still felt like a divine revelation, the exact same kind experienced by Detective Karim Washington as he stared through that damned rose window in the finale.

More than that, Season 2 completely restored my faith that if creators Marling and Batmanglij were given the space and resources to realize the five-season plan they’d had mapped out—five NDEs, five dimensions, five seasons—that all, even the octopus, would be explained in time. But Netflix—which has shown time and time again that it is not interested in investing in that kind of longevity—didn’t give Marling and Batmanglij the opportunity to prove it. As a result, fans will be forever left in a state of suspended anticipation following one of the wildest twists in television history.

Major spoiler alert: In the final moments of The OA Season 2, all of the characters are launched into a new dimension—a version of our dimension. The dimension in which Jason Isaacs is an actor on a Netflix TV show called The OA. Let’s imagine, for a moment, how truly weird and wonderful that Season 3 would have been. Jason Isaacs could have used his real British accent, and Netflix could have indulged in so much self-referential content, which is a classic Netflix move. Everyone could have been happy!

Plus, there are still so many unanswered questions. Was that Steve or actor Patrick Gibson in the last scene? And was that The OA or Brit Marling? Did anyone else make the jump? Is Homer there? What about BBA? And what the heck was that giant octopus about? I simply cannot live in a world where I don’t get answers, but now I fear that I must. Not to exaggerate, but this is the probably worst thing that’s ever happened to anyone, ever. I always thought the end would come via drowning in some sort of climate-change-related geo-storm, but I guess this is how I die. Thanks a lot, Netflix. Have fun breaking the news to my parents, you sadists.

Of course, I might be able to carry on living if and only if the show gets picked up by another network or streaming service. It’s time to do the movements and resurrect this show, OAfans. If we don’t, then all I have to live for is the Zombieland sequel, and I really don’t think that’s enough to keep me going.

Watch The OA on Netflix