Look, I’ve got to say something here, but don’t think this means I love you any less, because that’s just not true; my love will never change. You’ve taken me places and done things for me I don’t think I could get anywhere else, and I appreciate it. Really, I do. You were the one who taught me the beauties of living a pumpkin spice life, and for a while I never wanted to go back.

But it’s all becoming a little much. It was cool at first. After I tried my first love, the PSL, you gave me a way to dive deeper — an outlet into a world of pumpkin spice pleasure. It was a world into which I dove whole-heartedly and with reckless abandon. Pumpkin spice granola? Check. Pumpkin spice pretzel thins? Check. Pumpkin spice cereal? Check. But you didn’t stop at transforming my cabinet — oh no. Your seasonal squash omnipotence wasn’t satisfied. Pumpkin spice ice cream, pumpkin spice macaroons and pumpkin spice cookie butter. Trying to taste them all gave my life a purpose. The pure and visceral excitement I used to get from a cart full of T.J.’s pumpkin spice cuisine would excite me in a way that neither man nor feline could match. But all that changed this year. Going into your store to see entire walls turned into a shrine to the gods of pumpkin spice was what I finally needed to see this for what is was: an abusive relationship.

The cycle was classic. It would start anew and beautiful every time. In the honeymoon phase you’d court me with some new cookie or snack. Then, two weeks later, amidst an ever-growing pile of unpaid bills and empty T.J.’s cartons I would tearfully admit I needed to cut myself off. And yet, the next time my housemates and I had to get food, I’d inevitably end up back with you. My friends would tell me, “No, Jenny, you’re only here for salsa, trail mix and regular cookie butter this time. Then we’ll just get the rest at Albertson’s where no one can hurt you any longer.” But when I’d walk down the long and narrow aisles, the prepackaged snacks would cry out to me. “Jenny, Jenny,” they’d say, “look over here. It’s pumpkin spice biscotti … you know how much you like biscotti. I’m new, Jenny. Won’t you at least give me a chance?” Inevitably, with hands trembling, I’d reach out, fearing what would become of me and yet knowing that resisting the allure would be pointless anyways.

But that’s not me anymore. I’m stronger now. I’ve made it my mission to stand up and have a voice for the millions of others out there who are feeling all alone as they dig in to their last mini pumpkin pie, just as I once did. Let us join forces as we cry out “ENOUGH” in the face of T.J.’s and the entire pumpkin spice-industrial complex. They’ve overwhelmed and mistreated us for too long. When will our oppressors realize the damage they have done? When will these rampantly capitalistic snack corporations have had enough? They are destroying good, hard working basics, such as myself, and one day they may be coming for you, too.

So there you have it T.J.’s — ramp it the hell down on the pumpkin spice, because I don’t need you anymore.

Either way, I’ve moved on. I’m with peppermint now.