"Okay-ish".

With a very serious face, he said, "you know, there is so much I can be sad about, worried about, distraught about, hopeless about, ruined about, but something just drives me away from complaining about any of them."

He went on, "Maybe some part of me believes that it is weak to be someone who complains about everything. Maybe I've lost the ability to shed tears because I've avoided it for so long believing that it just isn't strong to be someone who feels like shedding a couple of tears. Maybe, I subliminally even believe it is weak to do so even though I've always told I believed otherwise. Sure, I get frustrated, I get this unstoppable urge to nail somebody and break their face but at the end of the day, I'm no longer even motivated to show my anger off."

"Maybe hate isn't the answer. I know it seems very viable and very logical to just be angry and frustrated always because it indeed is a freakishly cynical world out there, but something inside of me keeps telling me hate is not the answer. It probably will never be the answer. It probably will not even come close to being the answer. Yeah things are unfair and things aren't the way I'd like them to be, but that's just all fine. I don't really know what I feel or how I can express what I feel but that's okay too. Sometimes okay is all I get and quite honestly, it isn't too bad."

He paused. It was a very long pause.