I'm probably done writing for quite some time.

I'm having an incredibly hard time writing. 
I feel  like everything I write turns into some sort of rant, or makes me look like a know-it-all. 
I can very honestly say I do not know it all. 

I wrote a post that was featured on another blog about my brother. My brother has autism. I love my brother fiercely, and have ALWAYS been protectively  trying to shield him from the bad in the world. From the mean and ignorant people that know nothing about his heart, nothing about his love for people, nothing about his passion to be a good friend. He is the best and brightest young man I have ever had the pleasure to be around. He has always been, and will always be the best guy in my life. He makes me see the good in the world. He makes me want to be a better  person, sister, and friend. Because of the life I have lived with both him and my sister, I can very honestly say I have learned to look at the beauty in life and not dwell on the fact that there will always be mean people. There will always be someone who tries as hard as they can to tear you to pieces, but when you have a love in your life like the one I share with those two, it doesn't even matter because they're more important than any mean comment or hateful glance.

I wrote very honestly and openly about my struggles with both the social stigma, and the "fad" of describing everything as "retarded." I wrote about how I used to abhor that word, but then fell into the peer pressure of using it like my friends. I wrote about how I tried so hard to break the habit, and about how much it killed me to be a hypocrite. It really isn't as simple as "just quit using that word." You hear it daily. You are exposed to the idea that it is ok, and it really is hard to stand up to something so many people view as a little thing. It is very hard to be that person that says "don't say that, it offends me" to someone that thinks the word means nothing. People use it more around you after that, because they know it hurts you. Not very many people understand. Not very many people care.

After I wrote about how I have struggled with using "that's retarded" more than I care to admit and how it affected the way I viewed myself, and even the relationship I have with my brother, I was bombarded in the comment section about why I was such an awful person, and how I should be ashamed of myself, and why my brother shouldn't love me, and my mom should wash my mouth out with soap and then forget she gave birth to me. I heard it all. In all honesty, I had never associated my brother with being "retarded," because he is not. I never once called a person retarded. I never once insulted someone who made a poor choice. If I did use it, it was referring to situations and choices, but never ever a person. Never ever a person.

I don't think I want to blog anymore. I don't think I can ever put myself out there in writing and get my writing and feelings shattered like that again. I was being vulnerable and honest in a space I was told would be no judgement. A space I was told to freely write and connect with people that had looked at my story and could relate to me. Instead of connecting with people and growing from my experience I was ostracized and condemned. I don't think I can do it anymore.