This is an experience record that has been de-identified, risk-screened, and language-edited; no identifying details about the original author, location, or recognizable specifics are retained.
The hardest part is not knowing when it will happen next
I was with him for several years. At first, I just thought he liked to have a few drinks—friends' gatherings, work functions, alcohol was always involved. Gradually, I noticed his drinking was changing. He used to drink beer, then switched to baijiu, and his tolerance kept growing. I asked him about it, and he said, "It's fine, being able to drink is a good thing." But later, his tolerance suddenly dropped—he used to need a jin to get drunk, but now half a jin knocked him out. I looked it up and learned that the liver's ability to metabolize alcohol had declined; his body could no longer handle it.
Back then, I didn't understand—I thought he was just tired. But later, he wanted to drink as soon as he woke up, saying, "I feel off if I don't drink." I started to worry, but I didn't know who to talk to. He always said, "I can control it," but in reality, he was losing control more and more. Once, he hid a bottle of baijiu in a mineral water bottle and brought it home. When I found out, he got angry. I was terrified at that moment—I didn't know what would happen next.
The way he looked for alcohol made him feel like a stranger
What upset me most was that he would go to any lengths to find a drink. Once, when he came back from a business trip, I went through his luggage and found a small bottle that smelled of alcohol. He said it was medicinal liquor from a colleague, but I knew in my heart it wasn't. Later, I learned this is called "compulsive drug-seeking behavior"—both his body and brain were forcing him to find alcohol. I tried to reason with him, but it didn't work. He would also secretly hide liquor in the closet and under the bed; every time I cleaned, I'd find a few bottles.
I began to realize this wasn't simply "liking to drink"—it was an illness. But he wouldn't admit it, saying, "I just like drinking, so what?" I felt so helpless then, not knowing how to help him. I even wondered if I wasn't doing enough, which was why he was like this. But later I understood: it wasn't my fault—it was the addiction controlling him.
The withdrawal reactions were more severe than I imagined
Once, he tried to quit drinking. The first two days were fine, but on the third day, his hands shook so badly he couldn't even hold a cup steady. He told me his heart was racing, he was breaking out in cold sweats, couldn't sleep at night, and said he saw things moving on the wall. I was terrified and rushed him to the hospital. The doctor said these were withdrawal symptoms—in severe cases, they could be dangerous and required professional treatment. That's when I learned that quitting drinking isn't something you can just tough out.
After that, I never dared let him quit at home alone again. Every time he wanted to stop, I would accompany him to consult a doctor. The doctor told us that withdrawal symptoms include heart palpitations, hand tremors, cold sweats, and even hallucinations, and that medication support is needed to get through it safely. I learned to monitor his condition and seek help promptly if anything seemed off. The process is slow, but at least we're on the right track.
Physical and psychological problems, one after another
Years of heavy drinking took a toll on his body. His stomach was bad—he vomited often and ate irregularly. His hands and feet went numb, he had no strength when walking, and his memory deteriorated—he'd forget what he just said moments later. He also constantly suspected me of having an affair and would lose his temper at the slightest thing. I know it's the alcohol affecting his brain, but every time I'm wrongly accused, it still hurts.
The doctor said drinking can also cause femoral head necrosis and erectile dysfunction, and I've seen these things gradually happen. He became more sensitive and short-tempered. I tried to communicate with him, but we often ended up arguing. Later, I learned to walk away when he got agitated and talk to him only after he calmed down. That's not avoidance—it's self-protection.
I learned to set boundaries and to seek help
After so many relapses, I finally understood that I can't quit drinking for him, but I can walk the right path with him. I started setting boundaries: I don't help him hide alcohol, I don't cover for him, and I don't argue with him when he's drunk. If he shows danger signs—like hallucinations or severe hand tremors—I take him to the hospital immediately instead of trying to tough it out myself.
I also started seeking support. I contacted the hospital's family support group and talked with other partners, and I found out I'm not alone. They told me that addiction is a chronic disease that requires long-term management—it can't be cured by scolding or by enduring it. I learned to take care of myself while being there for him, and I stopped carrying all the responsibility on my own shoulders.
Right now, he's still on the road to sobriety—there's progress and there are setbacks. But I'm not as anxious anymore, because I know what to do next. If you're going through something similar, I want to say: first understand the patterns of addiction, then set your boundaries, and then seek professional help. You're not fighting this alone.
In long-term companionship, understanding the patterns of addiction matters more than blame, and setting boundaries is what makes sustained support possible.