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I wouldn’t drink at weddings, birthday parties, or any other social event, since I didn’t want to tempt him. Still, Jake would pass out on the couch like clockwork at 7 p.m.I bought alcohol-free mouthwash, and stopped cooking with vodka sauce or wine. until the next morning, just as he had before I was aware of his drinking.My brother and I had to carry him out to the car to put him in the backseat, where he slept for the remainder of the party while we continued to work. He was a liar; that’s not what I had signed up for.But after we talked about it, he finally admitted to having a problem, and he promised he could easily get it under control. At this point, we were already living together, so I supported him by keeping a dry house.Throughout our relationship, I don’t believe he ever stopped drinking.He just got better at hiding it — until he slipped.Thinking back, the evidence that Jake* was an alcoholic was right in front of me. The telltale signs, like routinely passing out at 7 p.m.
It wasn’t even in a real parking spot: He had just pulled up in front and left his car, the way one parks in an emergency.And there it was: a half-empty pint-sized bottle of vodka in his trunk. Ultimately, it was the lying that undid the little we had left.He didn’t want to get better; he wanted to continue pretending he was better without putting in any of the hard work it takes to become a recovering alcoholic.As our relationship progressed, people around us felt more comfortable asking me why his eyes always seemed glazed over, and why he often told the same story twice. How did he break his ankle just by walking down the stairs?When I would repeat those questions to him, he’d shrug his shoulders and say, “That’s just the way I am.”One night, while we were watching a movie in his bed, I found an empty pint-sized bottle of vodka in with his sheets.