My boyfriend is depressed and drinks a lot, how can I help?

Question

He drinks because his brother passed away. He admits he drinks to much. He often blacks out and forgets things (like a large amount of time passing).

Answer 1

I just wanted to see if this type of insight could help others who are suffering?

As my feet slap down against the cold wet pavement, and my face drips rain from the storm, an unrelenting need to drink pushes me further. Exact final destination appears unknown , but it's inevitable that the evil inside will again return me to the source of my nightmare. No control, no will of my own, no power had I found that might evict this hell that had infected my body and mind. Self-identity, and all that was once me, had been buried under countless layers of drunkenness, so deep, that any calls for help were merely an echo inside my head.
This living liquid curse, cunning and without conscience, had been absorbed into a body which at one time eagerly welcomed it's unyielding influence. But now, as the onslaught of alcohol turned viciously against the world around me, it was only I being held responsible for it's drunken destruction carried out during my imprisonment.
Those intense fear ridden mornings, when I awoke to find yet another nightmare of alcohol's creation, devilishly constructed from it's own personality the night before. Whether it was the sight of dried blood crusted over both hands, or the unfamiliar surroundings of a place where I shouldn't have been, alcohol knew how to render me frozen with crippling insecurity. Too frightened to reason out a healthy answer as to what was happening to me, a deliberate terror of conscience always reached out and tightly gripped my soul. This devil, disguised and hidden behind my own recently drunken face, knew exactly where I'd run to for help. This was much more then an accident through drink. Alcohol's intent was to survive at all costs, to live and breath it's own existence using me as it's host of choice.
But, now, unaware of this developing transformation, all I wanted to do was calm the terror inside my head. There would be only one place, one exit, one chance to escape into a feeling of normality. Alcohol left nothing to chance, and as it waited patiently for me to return a bottle to my lips, I could almost hear a deep sullen laughter quicken my mobility. I desperately needed to lock myself away into the only security I knew, and to experience that precious freedom, I once again had to ingest my enslaver.
If you find this interesting,you can contact me @ http://www.associatedcontent.com/..........
Steve Procto
I have alot more that I have written

Answer 2

Give him the business card of a good grief counselor. They will be able to help him with his weakness.

Answer 3

Take him to A.A. meetings, sorry to say it, but it sounds like he has a problem. Good luck to you too by the way.

Answer 4

Give him a hummer. That always works for me