This is a record of personal experience that has been de-identified, risk-screened, and edited for clarity; no identifying details about the original author, their location, or other recognizable information are retained.
At first, I thought he was just young and liked to have fun
He dropped out of school at 17 and started drinking in secret. His thinking back then was simple: smoke and drink, and you'll have friends everywhere. Every time he drank, he was nervous and careful, afraid his family would find out. The first time I learned he was drinking was at a classmate's house—four of them shared a bottle of some liquor whose name I didn't know. That night, he rode his motorcycle home in the wind, arriving around 11 p.m. It was especially cold in winter, and he'd been drinking. As soon as he got home, he vomited and fell straight into bed.
I didn't think much of it at the time. I figured he was a boy—who doesn't drink a little when they're young? Later, he went back to school, started working, got married, and had a child. Through all those years, he kept drinking—when he was happy, when he was angry, and on ordinary days too. The amount wasn't especially large, but he never stopped. I brought it up a few times, and he always said, "It's fine, I know what I'm doing."
What scared me most was when he stopped eating
What really started to worry me was the last two years. He stopped working and stayed home, and he started drinking from the very first day. At first he drank during the day and not at night, but later he drank at night too, and after getting up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, he'd drink again. His way of drinking got stranger and stranger—beer mixed with baijiu, baijiu mixed with cola. He barely ate anything; sometimes he'd have just one egg in a whole day.
I watched him be drunk every single day. The first thing he did when he woke up in the morning was drink—baijiu with cola. He said that was the only way he felt comfortable. At that point, his daily intake was one case of beer, one jin of baijiu, and one bottle of cola. I argued with him and begged him, saying if he kept this up, his body would collapse. He'd agree verbally, then turn around and drink again. That feeling of helplessness was like watching someone slowly sink—you reach out to pull them up, but they won't even take your hand.
That day at the school gate, he collapsed
It happened at the end of February. The night before, there was no alcohol left in the house, so he didn't drink. In the middle of the night, he started alternating between chills and fever, couldn't sleep no matter what, his heart was racing. He'd get up to drink some hot water, then some cold water—he barely slept all night. In the morning, he insisted on taking the child to school. After he got back, he didn't even drink water. At 11 a.m., when it was time to pick up the child, he drank a little water, ate a piece of candy, and rode his three-wheeled bike to the school gate.
Later he told me that after parking at the school gate, he sat on the bike video-calling a family member. Right then, he saw a small white square in the corner of the bike's display screen, and in an instant, he collapsed. He said it felt like being "shot in the head"—he knew he was falling, but he couldn't do anything about it. When he woke up, a crowd of people was gathered around him. He was sitting on the steps, groggy, and his first thought was still "I drank too much again."
He stood up to pick up the child, staggering as he walked. I rushed over later and saw that his hands were waxy yellow and his face was pale, without a trace of color. He rode the three-wheeled bike home, swaying the whole way. Once home, he still felt unwell—no strength, headache.
He said it felt like being "reborn," but I never want to go through that again
That afternoon he rested at home and thought a lot. He said that after waking up, he had a feeling of being "reborn." From that day on, he truly stopped drinking entirely. When people invited him to drink, he refused—firmly refused. He said that was the feeling of being on the brink of death, and he was too scared.
As the person who has been by his side all along, my feelings are complicated. On one hand, I'm grateful he finally stopped. On the other hand, I'm still shaken by the fear—what if no one had noticed when he collapsed? What if the child had seen it? All those years I advised him, argued with him, begged him—none of it worked. In the end, it took such a dangerous warning sign to wake him up. I don't know whether to call that luck, but I do know that this is an experience our whole family never wants to go through again.
Looking back now, the hardest part wasn't the period when he was drinking—it was not knowing when the next danger would strike. Those days of constant anxiety were more exhausting than any argument.
If you or a family member are going through something similar, you can look at the stories of other families we've collected—you may find some resonance and direction there.
In the long-term companionship of a partner with alcohol dependence, the hardest part isn't the arguments—it's not knowing when the next danger will come.