The world around me is made of cotton balls, everything is dulled and soft. I have been staring into the fake flames of the fireplace for so long that the room in my peripheral vision is becoming distorted and misshapen. (Click Image to read more)
I'm fourteen and still spending time in the hallway of my residential unit almost every night, petrified and alone, waiting for the safety of morning to come so I can retreat back to my room and try to sleep. (Click image to read post)
It's late spring in 2008, I'm living in a pilot therapeutic care program an hour out of Melbourne in a country town that grew roots in my heart; the first place that still feels like home. (Click image to read more)
A short piece about my experience in the first foster home I went to after my mother died. This is a pretty heavy one. (Click image to view the post)
In 2007 I was living in a pretty stock standard residential unit, a purpose built house filled with locks and a pervasive sense of darkness. (Click image to read more)
"Driftwood is a 27 year old freelance writer, speaker, consultant and support worker based in Melbourne, Australia. Driftwood developed a love for literature shortly after his mother passed away in 2000 and he was gifted a sympathy note inside the first Harry Potter book."