The anguish and frustration I felt over one innocent question

A friend gave me a journal as a gift. And he's now asked me for the second time "Did you start writing in the journal?" I do genuinely like it, genuinely appreciate it, and I will eventually use it. But a couple things- I can't prioritize it necessarily in my limited functional time. Especially because emotional exertion hits me harder than most mental exertion. I also don't really like the overconsumption culture so I don't move on to the new thing without using what I have first, even if I am excited about the new thing. So my immediate thought was "No, and can you stop asking me that? I don't know when I will get to it, and I don't want the weight of your expectations about a journal when a decent amount of the time I'm barely getting through feeding and cleaning myself" I was more tactful to him tho. I hate being asked about my life. People usually hate the answer and I don't have the energy atm to either put forward a strong front and be unbothered by the judgement or practice half truths to avoid or deflect the judgement...