7 Septembris, 354
I genuinely just don’t know anymore. I don’t know about a lot of things. I don’t know what to do about He who must not be named, I don’t know where so many of the friends I made in the first few weeks of being in Lithmore are, and I don’t know about what I’m doing.
I mean, I’m too nice to be a proper one, and I just give it away most of the time. Whenever they stir my sympathies, I just give it away, one time totally anonymously. But does that excuse what I’m doing? It helps with pain, sure, but at what point do I have a moral duty to simply say no? At what point does it go from helping somebody relax and numb the pain to feeding an addiction? Are they one and the same?
I mean, I’m sure the analogy can be made to any bar man or maid in the land with alcohol. But why does this feel altogether different?