dear diary

someone told me I should write more for this thing, like that's what it's all about, an invitation into this life. is that true? it is not just annoying? Should I tell you secrets? secrets that are not really secret except who would I tell them to? Like how it is Christmas and maybe the first time that it doesn't matter to me, there is something almost nice about it. this feeling like finally I don't feel lonely, don't feel resentful about other people having families, or resentful about why do we celebrate this sickculture thing? I just feel ok. like ok. for real. I don't have to go to brunch just because other people are. I got my sister stripped socks but I got myself some too, so it's ok. I knit a hat. I layed in bed and read.