Katt Serious: A Brief History of My Junkie Butt

(*My Twitter is @kattfunny if you're interested.)

WARNING!  This post isn't funny and contains sad topics. 
CAUTION!  This is what a drug addict looks like!   
Since there is a freshman crowd of readers coming in, let me give you a little background on your darling Katt Funny:

My real name is Kathleen Adams.  I was raised in the West Hills of Portland, Oregon, an area which is referenced in the Everclear song "I Will Buy You a New Life".  
Jesuit High School
Class of '98

I went to a Catholic, college prep school, then did most of my university in Germany, where I studied a bunch of languages. Currently, I have learned (to a degree of proficiency) French, German, Danish, and Norwegian.  

Sophomore year of college. 1999.
I once had to waste five minutes convincing a Swede that I'm not Swedish.  I don't even speak Swedish.
My intention was to transfer to the University of Copenhagen for senior year, but I was late turning in the paperwork due to my drinking problem and increasing bouts of depression.  

Junior year of college.  2000.
I smoked so much that one of the German class' grammar questions was
"Kat raucht gerne weil, _____."
(translation:  Kat likes to smoke because _______.) 
I quit school and moved back to the states to be with my American boyfriend, Andrew Barna. 

Andrew John Barna
03/29/79 - 01/09/05
We moved in together, and despite having had boyfriends throughout the years, Andy is the only genuine partner I've ever had.  He died ten years ago in an accident (fell and hit his head).  

In order to tolerate the pain, I spent the following years mainlining heroin and cocaine until I was the lowest scum of society- a smelly, fat junkie who wound up in the homeless person detox.
Me smacked out at 23.  I got fat on heroin  I never lost my appetite, and it shut down my metabolism.  
I've been sober since January 3rd, 2007.  

January 3rd, 2010 on my third sobriety anniversary.
Unlike other posts where I sometimes take liberties with reality, this post is all cold truth.    

I cleaned up, wrote about my life, and to my shock, people wanted to read about it.  They told me that I was talented, and best of all, that I had helped them understand addiction.

I had assumed the only career paths suitable for me were motherhood or monasticism due to my unique, lifelong affinity for mankind and God.  I'm wrong though because I have served both best simply by being me writing about me.  

A writer.
Note the blazer. 

"The Face of Heroin"
Sigh...brutal (shaking head), just brutal.  
To be completely candid- I am embarrassed by my past.  I'm afraid people will think I'm "dirty". 

That isn't a reason not to talk about it though.  I have to because the others don't get to.  Where I wound up, almost no one survives, and those who do don't look like me.  I was able to get out at twenty-six, right before I wound up dead at twenty-seven or on a "Faces of Meth" poster at thirty. 

That's all for now.  I love you.  Bye bye.   

Take that heroin!
(...and cocaine, alcohol, cigarettes, tanning beds...)