This is a de-identified, risk-screened, and language-edited account of personal experience; the original author's identity, location, or identifiable details are not retained in the text.
The hardest part is not knowing when it will happen next
His drinking felt wrong to me from the very beginning. It wasn't the occasional drink at a social gathering—it was drinking every day, and the amount kept growing. At first it was a few liang at dinner, then it became drinking at noon too, and later the first thing he did in the morning was look for alcohol. I calculated that he could drink more than 1 jin of baijiu a day, sometimes more.
The hardest part wasn't what he looked like when drunk, but that I never knew when it would happen next. Sometimes he'd say he was going out to run errands, and he'd come back reeking of alcohol; sometimes I'd wake up in the middle of the night and find him not in bed, with the kitchen light on, staring blankly at a bottle. I tried hiding the alcohol, but he always found it; I tried arguing with him, and he'd promise to quit, but within a few days he was back to his old ways.
I gradually learned to read his state. If he started getting irritable, having hand tremors, or suffering from insomnia, I knew he wanted to drink again. That feeling of constant dread was like a string stretched taut in my heart, never knowing when it might snap.
I tried every approach I could think of
Over the years, I tried nearly every method I could think of. First I searched for information online and looked at various ways to quit drinking, then I took him to the community health center for consultations. The doctor suggested psychological counseling, and we went a few times, but the results weren't obvious. We also tried medication-assisted treatment, the oral kind, but he always forgot to take it, or stopped because he found it troublesome.
The most devastating moment for me was when he secretly stopped taking the medication and lied to me that he was still on it. It wasn't until one day he collapsed drunk at the entrance of our residential complex and a neighbor helped carry him home that I realized he had never stuck with it. That night I cried for a long time—not out of anger, but out of a profound sense of helplessness. I even wondered whether I wasn't doing enough, and that was why he couldn't let go of alcohol.
Later I came to realize that this wasn't my fault, nor his fault—alcohol dependence itself is a condition that requires professional intervention. I began to adjust my mindset and stopped taking all the responsibility onto myself. I told myself: what I can do is offer support, but change requires his own willingness, and it also requires professional help.
The implant option—we weighed it repeatedly for a long time
Last year, a friend mentioned naltrexone hydrochloride implants. He said it was a subcutaneously implanted medication that releases continuously and helps reduce the craving for alcohol. My first reaction was skepticism—it sounded like some high-tech gimmick that couldn't be reliable. But my friend said someone he knew had used it with good results, and suggested we look into it.
We spent a lot of time researching. I learned that naltrexone hydrochloride is an opioid receptor antagonist that blocks the pleasurable effects of alcohol and reduces the craving for it. The implant is a sustained-release formulation placed under the skin that can release continuously for more than 150 days, avoiding the hassle of taking pills every day. There are publicly available clinical trial data online showing it can significantly reduce the number of heavy drinking days and the amount of alcohol consumed. But some studies also note that the effect varies from person to person and is related to genetics.
He was resistant at first, finding the idea of implanting something into his body frightening. I accompanied him to talk with the doctor several times, and the doctor explained the mechanism in detail: the implantation procedure uses local anesthesia, makes a small incision in the abdomen, and places the medication into the subcutaneous fat layer. The whole process is quick, and recovery after the procedure is simple. The doctor also clearly told us that this is not a one-time fix and needs to be combined with psychological therapy and lifestyle adjustments.
We weighed the pros and cons for a long time. What I worried about wasn't the effectiveness, but that if it failed, he would feel even more discouraged. But he said he wanted to try once more. In the end, we decided to go with this option.
The changes after implantation were slower than I expected, but real
After the implantation surgery, he came home to recover. There was no obvious change in the first few days—he still muttered about wanting to drink, but the frequency decreased. A week later, he began to say on his own, "I don't feel like drinking as much anymore." I noticed he no longer became restless at certain times of day like he used to. Once at a meal, there was a bottle of liquor someone had given us on the table. He glanced at it and said, "Leave it there. Looking at it now is like looking at plain water."
But the process was not smooth sailing. For a few days in the middle, he felt very low and said life seemed meaningless. I knew this was part of the withdrawal response, because alcohol has a long-term effect on the brain's reward system, and when it's suddenly cut off, the brain needs time to readjust. I accompanied him on walks, talked with him, and encouraged him to find other things to do. He gradually picked up his old hobbies again, like repairing old furniture and reading books.
Now, several months have passed since the implantation. He no longer thinks about alcohol every day, and he hasn't had the kind of out-of-control drinking behavior he had before. But he himself also says this doesn't mean he's completely cured—it just provides a buffer period. We are both learning how to live with this change, and we understand there may be challenges ahead.
The boundary of companionship: I learned to take care of myself first
Over the years, the biggest change in me has been learning to set boundaries. Before, I would lose sleep and feel anxious because of his drinking, and it even affected my work. Later I realized that if I collapsed first, I wouldn't be able to help him at all. I started meeting friends regularly, maintaining my own social circle, and picked up my fitness routine again. I told myself: his quitting drinking is his task, and my companionship is my choice, but I can't sacrifice my own life for it.
I also learned to stop bearing all the consequences for him. Before, when he got drunk, I would clean up after him, take leave from work for him, and explain things to family members. Now, I tell him: "If you decide to drink, you need to face the consequences yourself." This isn't coldness—it's making him realize that this is his own choice.
The relationship between us has also changed. Before, alcohol was the biggest barrier between us, and every mention of it led to an argument. Now, we can talk about it calmly. He takes the initiative to tell me how he feels, and I express my concerns. This kind of communication matters more than any medication.
Not an endpoint, but a new starting point
Writing this isn't to say we've already succeeded, but to tell those who, like me, are accompanying someone on this journey: this road is hard, but it's worth walking. Every family's situation is different, and there is no one-size-fits-all method. What matters is finding professional support that suits your own situation, while maintaining patience and hope.
If you are going through something similar, I want to say: you are not alone. You can start by learning more, such as checking out the help resources, or doing an assessment together with your family. Change takes time, but every step counts.
Supporting someone through quitting drinking requires patience and boundaries; choosing a suitable approach and sticking with it is the only way to see change.