Old Habbits

I want to cut, but I can't. My mom would yell, I would cry: I don't want to be a burden in her life. I'm shaking, I'm scared: I don't want to be here. "Is it because of me?" My mother asks, but she doesn't understand, this isn't her past. She loves me because she has to, not that she cares: maybe she wouldn't mind if I wasn't here.