A few years ago I was at a recovery unit for people with mental health problems. At a creative writing group we were asked to write about a friend. How we met and our relationship with them. This was my contribution:
One of my closest friends is Alice. We met about ten years ago in the Costa café at Mornington Crescent. I'd been on a ward at St Pancras Hospital for nearly a year and was being treated with huge doses of anti-psychotic medication. My self-esteem was barely existent and I felt misunderstood by everyone. Alice was a stylish young woman with a pair of designer sunglasses and a chipper middle class voice. We were both regulars in the café and I initially felt too frightened to talk to her.
A decade later we are firm friends. I send Alice the poems I write and we speak on the phone regularly. Alice is a clever woman and a well-read woman from a literary family. She is the closest female friend I've ever had and she knows things about me that I've never told anyone else. I trust her judgement about the things I tell her and she knows all about my involvement with mental health services. I know she's in my corner.
Published by Ben Preston
Ben Preston is a poet washed up in London’s Somers Town. He’s worked as a bartender, factory operative, diamond controller, dabbled in philosophy and dropped out of everything. He’s starting again. He’s using the skills he’s developed in creative writing to forge a new life and a new identity.
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Ben Preston 