Well, I did it.
That is, I moved out. It was awful. My now ex-A-fiance was visiting relatives in Florida this past week, and I had told him I would be visiting my parents in the Minnesota wilderness this weekend. Tragic blunder on my part, because a) I despise lying to people, and b) he has their phone number. Anyway the lying and the stress of my weekend's activities (packing and such) were so overwhelming that I ducked his calls all day Saturday and Sunday. Since he'd been expecting me to be home on Sunday evening, he got panicky and called the sheriff in the county where my parents live, and called everybody he had phone numbers for, trying to find out what happened to us.
I feel just horrible for making him worry like that. Gut-wrenchingly horrible. I did call him early on Monday morning to tell him what's up. Told him I couldn't marry him, that the alcoholism was too much for me, that I was moving out. Asked him to please take care of himself, and not to call me because my mind was made up. So far, he hasn't called. Not long after that my movers showed up and hauled my junk away to storage. I bought a house and the sale closes next Wednesday, which is amazingly fast. I'm staying at my friend's house until the house deal is done.
While I'm relieved that it's all over, I am still suffering from the guilt of making him worry so much. I did apologize to him for that. I have a counseling appointment this afternoon, too, and I'm sure I'll talk all about it. Still, the relief for having finally made my decision and that the worst of it is over does make me feel a little better than I had last week. My appetite hasn't returned fully yet but it's getting better slowly, and I slept almost all night last night. These are big improvements.
I guess that what's ultimately important here is that I finally decided that enough was enough, listened to my gut, and acted on it. No more quacking.
It still sucks, though.