Adam Krieger

To the man and woman who chose to conceive a child, the result of which was me, when it fit in with their five year plan;

To the teachers who never really cared, no matter what they say;

To my fellow geeks, dweebs, et. al., who will no doubt receive more abuse upon my passing, as my tormentors will no longer have me to kick around;

To my fellow students who made my life a living nightmare when they should have focused on their education;

To those who never cared, never spoke, probably never knew my name;
To the one true friend, whose caring was the only thing that prevented this even from happening sooner;

To the God, if he does exist, who chose to play a cruel, cruel joke on me when he placed me where he did and surrounded me with so many uncaring faces;

To all of you, goodbye.

I am leaving a world to which I never truly belonged or fit in. Do not weep for me, or mourn my passing. I say this not because I expect to be missed, but to allow those who truly did not care go on with their lives with a clean conscience and dry eyes. I know you don't want to weep for me. So don't. But I do ask you to listen to the final words of a young man who has taken charge of his own destiny.

Perhaps my parents might feel something inside which causes them to shed tears. They may pretend that it's sorrow for their "loss", but I hope it is something else. Perhaps sorrow for bringing a child into this world when they really didn't have the time or desire to raise him. I wasn't the product of love, born of a desire to prepare another human being to grow and lead the human race. I was merely the next acquisition, the next task, the next project on their list of things that bring significance.

No child should be brought into this world for the mere purpose of being just another possession. I am not an asset to be cataloged and listed on your tax forms beside your house and car, or fought over during your divorce proceedings. I am a human being. I'm sorry that it took this to make you realize that. If you don't yet get it, then I'm even sorrier.

What about my teachers? Will they be sorry to see another student become a statistic? Certainly the administration and Principal Chowning will mourn, as my death will not reflect well on them as an institution. Well, I apologize for making the statistics for your administration worse. But I don't expect an apology for the false sympathies of people like Mrs. Dunfee, and the broken promises of others like Mr. Richman.

As for my fellows students, those who made a more significant impact on my life, I know better than to expect my tormentors to mourn.

But if I'm going to address those who belittled me, I'd be remiss if I failed to include the ladies in my life. I guess that's not entirely accurate, as the ones I refer to fall in two basic categories: those who refused to be in my life, and those who I would rather have excluded from my life. In the former category, Melinda Tunney, Jessica Silvers, and dear Kimmy Vanover, whose laughed in my face after I asked her to the homecoming dance, humiliating me in front of I don't know how many other classmates. In the latter category are too many to mention, though I must single out Rebecca Cull and Vanessa Dietrich for their tremendous dedication to the cause of destroying any shred of self-esteem I might dare to foster. Why can't you accept the things that make other people different rather than insisting everyone conforms to your will?

Sure, some did offer friendly gestures. Nicole Edwards often would greet me and ask about my life. Not that I ever felt comfortable enough to tell her anything; I never trusted her enough to give her the chance. What was the purpose? Did you really give a flip about the shy, quiet kid who sat behind you in 8th grade history? Or was it all about creating an illusion that you care, just to guarantee my voting for you as a class officer.

I can only conceive of one person in this world who will truly be sad at my parting. Marty, my best friend, you talked me out of this decision three times before. You even called 911 after I swallowed a bottle of pills. That is why I did not tell you anything this time, and why I do this in secret, alone. I wish you were coming with me on this great adventure, into the final frontier. Where ever I go, yours will be the one face I carry with me. The one soul I will miss. Yours is also the only forgiveness I ask and beg for as I depart from this life. I love you, and always will.

There's another group I have not yet addressed: those not like me who left me alone. Or I should say ignored me. I appreciate your sparing me any further harassment, but your inaction, your withheld hellos and how are yous did more to hurt than any name calling. Your inaction effectively excluded me from student life, from the human race. You left me isolated and alone, and no words I could say can convey to you the suffering you caused. I could name names, but in doing so, I would do more now for you than you ever did for me in life.

I do not know if what awaits me at the end of this gun. Will there be a void? Or will I come face to face with God? I just don't care any more. If you're anything like your people, I wouldn't want to know you. You preached to love one another, yet I've felt everything except love from Christians. Even if I could know you were different, well, I still reject you. You have left your "followers" to treat people like me poorly. You have allowed so many of the people you "love", including me, to suffer. So you want me to trust you with my life? I don't want to spend eternity with a careless deity like you, or with the company you keep.

As my final moments tick away, I wonder what impact these words will create. It depends first on this web site being found, as I doubt whether school administration will want such venom spoken publicly about their lack of caring. Still, the Internet is a remarkable place where even the least significant individual can be heard. Will anyone listen? Will anyone take action? Will students pause and pay attention to the hurting hearts around them? And even if they do, will it be a temporary salve for their egos, to convince themselves they're really not bad people or will real change happen?

My heart certainly goes out to my fellow outsiders. With me gone, some of you will certainly feel more of the pain and hurt that I did. No one understands you. No one cares how your day is going. No one bothers to get to know you as anything more than a nerd, a geek, a loser. You can do nothing for their social status, save the occasional boost to the ego they get from putting you in your place. Some of you, like Andy Riker, will find outlets in writing. Some, like James Moon, will have an escape in art. Some, like Sean Gilbert, will live their lives pursuing unicorns that they will never, ever catch. I never had a talent to lose myself in, or a dream or unicorn to chase, and so I have taken the path most dreaded. Some of you may soon join me, and I look forward to welcoming a brother or sister to the land where you will never suffer the loneliness and rejection that faces you now.

Farewell forever. I am going to another place. Where, I do not know. But logic dictates that it can only be an improvement. Perhaps my passing will only prove a footnote in a school yearbook. Then again, perhaps the sacrifice of one might bring hope to others. If my death makes life for one person a little more bearable, or a little more enlightened, do I really die in vain?

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one."

- Adam Krieger

Recuerdos

Hola! me recuerdan? Soy el que antes escribia aqui, hace tiempo que no escribo nada, hace tiempo que no entraba siquiera a este blog, ya que mi vida ha dado varios cambios (Por fin me gradue, ya me case, ya tengo casa... entre otras cosas). Regrese a leer un poco de lo que antes escribia, asi como los comentarios de la persona que comentaba, y recordar la gente que leia pero que no comentaba, sigo dudando de su existencia.

Fue divertido y a la vez emotivo, leer los comentarios y darme cuenta como antes pretendia sin pretender y negaba sutilmente lo que queria y lo que sentia en ese momento, como en ese momento lo que yo mas queria era que esa lectora me pusiera atencion, pero yo siempre fui bueno para dar malas escusas. Fue transportarme en el tiempo y recordar el ambiente y el entorno que me rodeaba, asi como las situaciones y las personas que me motivaban a escribir de amor, desamor, celos, y demas cosas. Fue un recorrido desde un momento en un pseudo teatro, junto con un capulina y varios avionsitos de papel, pasando por un carro con lodo, en un dia lluvioso, en el estacionamiento de la azotea de un centro comercial, hasta terminar en el mismo carro, en otro estacionamiento antes de ir a cenar... Si que fue una montaña rusa... recuerdas?

Fue darme cuenta de como "fui creciendo" y como realmente tenia una pesima ortografia... que quiza siga teniendo. Ver como mis textos eran fantasticos, en aquel entonces, y que ahora los veo simples y revoltosos. Pasar de escribir siempre las mismas ideas y luego poder hacer historias completas, que surgieron de la nada, que describen precisasmente el como queria yo que pasaran las cosas, pero al final perdi la esperanza y logre hacer mi propia historia, con la cual soy feliz.

Una idea me rondo la cabeza desde que empece a leer de adelante hacia atras. Ella sabia que en realidad todo eso que escribia era por ella? bueno, no todo, solo la gran mayoria. Creo que nunca se lo dije, aunque ella si supo cuales eran mis verdaderas intenciones... Yo me soñaba junto con ella, cuando ella salia con alguien mas, yo sentia celos, cuando la decepcionaban, sabia que era mi oportunidad, cuando ella me veia a los ojos, me sentia feliz. Fue divertido recordar todos esos momentos de puberto, y saber que es diferente lo que se considera felicidad y lo que real mente es.

Pensaba mientras recorria todo mi blog, quiero segur escribiendo? quiero continuar con las historias que empece? empezamos de nuevo? Es seguro que quiero seguir escribiendo, y no quiero empezar de nuevo... no se si continuer con las historias o empezar algo nuevo, pero ya el tiempo lo ira diciendo todo.

Nunca dije GRACIAS, y espero que leas esto, gracias por todo y como antes lo he dicho, si leiste esto, no dudes de comentar.

Li

De lo poco de vida que me resta
diera con gusto los mejores años,
por saber lo que a otros
de mí has hablado.

Y esta vida mortal y de la eterna
lo que me toque, si me toca algo,
por saber lo que a solas
de mí has pensado

Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer

Me Vi...

Por Ella

Sonando entre tantos besos y delirios
En mi mente retumba esta penitencia
por besos abrasos y otros tantos lios
los que buscan lo que ella tanto ancia

Contigo - Fito Paez & Joaquin Sabina

Yo no quiero un amor civilizado,
ni recibos y escena de sofá;
yo no quiero que viajes al pasado
y vuelvas del mercado con ganas de llorar.

Yo no quiero vecínas con pucheros;
yo no quiero sembrar ni compartir;
yo no quiero catorce de febrero
ni cumpleaños feliz.

Yo no quiero cargar con tus maletas;
yo no quiero que elijas mi champú;
yo no quiero mudarme de planeta,
cortarme la coleta, brindar a tu salud.

Yo no quiero domingos por la tarde;
yo no quiero columpio en el jardin;
lo que yo quiero, corazón cobarde,
es que mueras por mí.

Y morirme contigo si te matas
y matarme contigo si te mueres
porque el amor cuando no muere mata
porque amores que matan nunca mueren.

Yo no quiero juntar para mañana,
nunca supe llegar a fin de mes;
yo no quiero comerme una manzana
dos veces por semana sin ganas de comer.

Yo no quiero calor de invernadero;
yo no quiero besar tu cicatriz;
yo no quiero Madrid con aguacero
ni Rosario sin tí.

No me esperes a la noche en el juzgado;
no me digas "volvamos a empezar";
yo no quiero ni libre ni ocupado,
ni carne ni pecado, ni orgullo ni piedad.

Yo no quiero saber por qué lo hiciste;
yo no quiero contigo ni sin ti;
lo que yo quiero, muchacha de ojos tristes,
es que mueras por mí.

Y morirme contigo si te matas
y matarme contigo si te mueres
porque el amor cuando no muere mata
porque amores que matan nunca mueren.

Y morirme contigo si te matas
y matarme contigo si te mueres
porque el amor cuando no muere mata
porque amores que matan nunca mueren.

La misma canción

Uno escribe siempre la misma canción
sobre un niño con cara de viejo
que se atreve a volar bajo el cielo marrón,
que agoniza detrás del espejo.

Uno canta siempre la misma canción
otra noche en el bar de la esquina,
cerca de la estación donde duerme un vagón
cuando el tiempo amenaza rutina.

Uno sueña siempre la misma canción,
abanico de fuego en la nieve,
cuando el sol envejece al caer el telón
y es tan tarde la vida y tan breve.

Uno empieza siempre la misma canción
con los mismos acordes gandules,
con el mismo trabajo y la misma obsesión,
con andrajos de velos de tules.

Uno inventa siempre la misma canción
del poeta borracho y su musa,
del teclado mellado del acordeón,
del pecado mortal sin excusa.

Uno rumia siempre la misma canción
como un perro ladrando a la luna,
con la misma trompeta y el mismo trombón
de mariachi que estuvo en la tuna.

Uno acaba nunca la misma canción
sobre un viejo con alma de niño
que no pierde ocasión de afinar su cajón
de psicópata barbilampiño.