Unlike him, who perceives addiction as a destructive force that blinds us to our own vulnerabilities and weaknesses, I hold a different view. I don’t see addiction as something that diminishes your humanity or your capacity for growth and change. I don’t claim that overcoming addiction is always necessary or that it defines who you are. Nor do I pretend to have all the answers or a simple solution to this complex issue. Honestly, I wrestle with my own struggles related to addiction, and I’m simply here to offer a space of understanding and compassion. There’s no judgment from me, no pretenses about being perfect or having all the solutions. I believe that addictions are part of the human condition—an inevitable thread woven into the fabric of life on this planet. We all face temptations, dependencies, and compulsions in various forms, and I often speak about the wickedness and judgments that cast shadows over our world—those tendencies that lead us to blame others or to point fingers at suffering, chaos, and injustice. But I want to be clear: I’m not trying to sell you a quick fix or to place the entire burden of change on your shoulders. I’m not here to judge you for your struggles, nor do I see your addiction as a moral failing that defines your worth. My aim is to offer a kind of liberation—a way for you to live with your addiction without shame or guilt—by shifting the focus away from blame and trusting that beneath everything, you are still a good person, aware of your own challenges and imperfections. Now, let me be honest about something. He believes that those who indulge excessively—whether in alcohol, drugs, or any form of excess—lose their grip on reason and responsibility. He thinks they’ve crossed a line and need to fix themselves, to become better. But I see things differently. I don’t see myself as superior or more enlightened than anyone who is still caught up in their addiction. Can we just have a honest conversation? Can you trust that despite my words sounding harsh or condemning—especially if you’ve read my psalms—I’m not talking about sinners in general? My perspective is simpler: I believe there’s only one true person, one genuine human being. The world is like a stage, and all of us are imperfect caricatures of what humanity was meant to be. Your sin, your struggle, doesn’t somehow leap onto me like a demon forcing me to follow your patterns. I spend time with people who drink too much or indulge in excess because I value the raw honesty in their lives—people who, like me, are under some influence, trying to make sense of everything. I don’t approach this from a place of moral superiority. Instead, I want to show how free God is—how He can do as He pleases—so that my confidence isn’t rooted in efforts to change you or fix you. That’s why I sometimes frame evil as a straw man—so I can be brutally honest about my own sinfulness and shortcomings. If I didn’t admit to hating that evil within myself, I couldn’t feel righteous anger when injustice happens—when children are harmed, the elderly are neglected, or the disabled are marginalized. I don’t want to blame any one person for these issues. That’s part of why I’ve memorized Psalms—because I seek genuine refuge, true redemption, and real protection. And in doing so, I accept my own addictions alongside those of others, finding a way to cherish the social bonds that connect us all, recognizing that we’re all imperfect beings trying to navigate this complex life.