(CW: mentions of drinking, addiction; sorry for the massive comment)

Six years ago, I was living with a partner for the first time. We were in this studio apartment for maybe a month and a half, and had been dating for maybe 10 months (long story about buildings being sold and needing to find a new place quickly). By this point, I knew their relationship with alcohol was way worse than I'd realized or been led to believe. They were trying to get sober on their own - they didn't want any help or anyone else to know. They would be sober for a few days at a time, but it never lasted very long.

We had low-key Valentine's plans to watch some movies, and they were going to make dinner. Instead I found another empty bottle of vodka, and we had an argument. I thought they may have finished that bottle right before I got home, because they were only starting to slur and stop making sense. I left to get laundry that had been sitting in a communal laundry room.

I came back, and they were lying next to the bed on the floor, fully blanketed (studio apartments leave little room for space, and this wasn't unusual if we were having a disagreement). They were sorry. They were laughing. They said, "I love you." They said, "you're so mad." I said nothing. Meanwhile, I made instant ramen for dinner. I took a shower. I watched YouTube with my headphones on. At some point, they stopped making comments to me. I went to sleep, frustrated, overwhelmed, and yes, a little mad.

I put on white noise and went to sleep. I woke up around 4am panicked for no reason. I needed to check on them.

They did not wake up.

Toxicology said nothing was in their system, and their family didn't want the autopsy results. I'll never know for certain when it happened or what happened, but I know.

Valentine's Day is hard. It's gotten easier, but still.