She loved the feeling it gave her, the burning pain, the release of bottled up frustration. That's why she still does it every single day.It was the only thing that remained constant in her life. Whilst everything around her shifted into shadows, merging to create and endless pool of dismay. It was the only thing that gave her the urge to continue living, it gave her a hope that maybe someday things will get better.

Every day she woke up early so that she could quickly get ready and put on her pair of boxing gloves. Whilst the world slept, she punched the bag that he had hung for her in her room. She would punch it repeatedly, a punch for every worry and a punch for every dream. Her muscles would burn in protest, but she wouldn't stop until she felt too weak to continue. 

This was all she had become, an empty shell of a human being with enough power to pack a mean punch. Often she thought to herself, when did it become like this? She would think back to the times when a smile came so easily to her. When laughing for no reason was a habit. Now she couldn't even remember the last time she had a good giggle.

She lay in her bed, thinking about how with everything she had lost, she had lost herself too. Maybe this was how she dealt with everything, she became someone new. Someone cold, emotionless. Perhaps some greater force was preparing her to leave this world. If she was lost, dying wouldn't hurt so much.