This is an experience record that has been de-identified, risk-screened, and linguistically organized; the original author's identity, geographic location, or identifiable details are not retained in the text.
From age 19, alcohol became part of his life
When we were together, he told me he had started drinking at 19. At first I thought it was just a habit from young people's gatherings, nothing serious. But I soon discovered that for him, alcohol was not social—it was a necessity. By the time he was past 25, he drank almost every night; if he didn't drink, he couldn't sleep and would be restless and fidgety.
I tried to understand him, thinking maybe it was work pressure or just a phase. But as the days went by, his tolerance grew. From an initial one or two bottles of beer, he later needed a whole bottle of spirits every day, or two dozen beers, sometimes even a jin (500 g) of baijiu. He said that was the only way he could "reach the right state," but what that state was, I increasingly could not understand.
In those years, I often waited for him to come home late at night, and my heart would tighten the moment I heard the key turn in the lock. Because I knew that next he would either collapse into sleep or become someone completely unlike the person I knew. I tried to talk to him, but he always said, "It's fine, I can control it." But I knew he couldn't.
The hardest part was never knowing when the next time would happen
Before he turned 28, after drinking he was at most talkative and in high spirits. I was worried, but I could still accept it. After 28, however, things changed. He began to become irritable after drinking, cursing at people for no reason, saying terrible things, yet the next morning he remembered none of it. Once he asked me, "Did I say something again last night?" Looking at his bewildered eyes, I felt an indescribable ache in my heart.
When he woke up, he was always remorseful, apologizing over and over, saying, "I won't drink again next time." But when evening came, the same scene would repeat itself. I gradually understood that it wasn't that he deliberately wanted to hurt me—it was that alcohol had taken control of him. But understanding is one thing; those words were like needles stuck in my heart that I couldn't pull out.
The most exhausting thing was not any single quarrel, but never knowing when the next one would happen. I became sensitive and anxious; even the sound of glasses clinking made my heart race. I began to fear the night, fear his coming home, fear that familiar yet unfamiliar person appearing before me.
After holding on for two years, I still chose to leave
I held on for two years. During those two years, I tried talking to him seriously, tried drinking less with him, tried threats, tears, the silent treatment, and even helped him find ways to quit drinking. But every time after a few days of abstinence, he would fall back into the old pattern. He said he didn't want it either, but when the craving hit, all reason went out the window.
On the day we broke up, there was no fierce argument. I just told him very calmly: I'm tired, I can't go on like this anymore. He was silent for a long time, then nodded. I knew he was in pain, but I also knew that if I didn't leave, I would be dragged down. That year, he had already been drinking heavily for ten years.
Later I heard from others that he had quit drinking. He went to the hospital and got through the hardest stage with medication, then relied on his own willpower to keep going. But in sharing his experience, he said something I have never forgotten: "After people with alcohol dependence quit drinking, the vast majority may relapse and must fight the psychological craving for life. The only way out is to never take the first drink."
He said he had relapsed several times along the way, each time drinking himself to the brink of collapse before quitting again. It wasn't until one time, when he admitted deep down that he could not drink like a normal person, that he truly developed a fear of alcohol. He said, "I can't bear those consequences."
The boundary of the companion: love is not about enduring everything
Looking back on this experience, my biggest takeaway is this: loving someone does not mean you have to endure all of their loss of control. I once thought that if I was patient and tolerant enough, I could help him get through it. But I later realized that change in a heavy drinker must begin from within; no matter how hard others try, they cannot replace his own choice.
After I left, he instead embarked on the path to sobriety. I don't know if it was a coincidence, or whether my leaving became the catalyst for his change. But I do know that if I had stayed in that relationship, I might have collapsed first. Companionship is not unlimited sacrifice; sometimes, protecting yourself is also a responsible choice.
Now, I occasionally think of him, but I no longer blame myself. I hope he truly recovers, and I also hope others who have had experiences like mine know this: you don't need to gamble your whole life on one person's change. You can care, you can support, but you must also remember to leave yourself an exit.
If you are accompanying a heavy drinker, it may help to first learn about some family support methods—to know what you can do and what he must face on his own. Only by protecting your own boundaries can you accompany for the long term.
Change in a heavy drinker requires acknowledging that he cannot drink like a normal person, and the companion needs to protect herself first.