consumed with guilt

No sleep at all... I am consumed with pain and guilt. It just doesn't seem that I will ever get over losing our home. It will be a year in Feb since I have been sleeping on my sisters couch... and my son has been living with his granny/aunt. There are days when I have to drive pass the house... it eats away at my heart. I can not get a grip, because I am constantly reminded that basically I am homeless. I know I should be grateful that I have a roof over my head.... but this roof comes with consequences... so many diabolical demands that at times I would rather be in a shelter than to have to hear myself being degraded behind my back, or have my niece and nephews walking around with condescending looks, and rolling their eyes... Especially when I know that I have literally taken care of all of them, when their PAPA did a runner... I should clarify that and say when HE DOES HIS RUNNERS! All I have ever wanted to do was/is take-care of my son... That house was for his security... now we have nothing... and I'm crying!

H = Him, M = Me, Dee = My Son

I'm driving along and my mind is trying to concentrate on the traffic up ahead and not the erratic/scary impulse to fling my car off the side of the mountain. Then I realize my estranged husband is calling. I debated if it was a good idea to speak to him. After his 3rd call, I answer... and then wish I hadn't.

Him: Good morning, Beautiful. How is my son?
Me: Morning, He's fine, on my way to see him, what's up?
H: When is he coming home?

M: His ass is fine just where he's at!! I will have him call you later.

H: Ummm, why are you sounding like that, why are you being hostile, what's going on with you/him?
M: WHAT the HELL.... I'm tired... irritated... and sick of my life being this way. Everyone is getting on my nerves, yes... Dee too!!!!

H: What has he done, is he in trouble, I don't understand, why are you angry with him?
M: God, all these questions, he hasn't done anything, except call constantly to check on me.

H: He's concerned, and worried about you.
M: I know that... that's why he's there, I don't want him to see me like this.
H: I don't see the problem with him calling HIS mother.
M: If you must know... his voice gets on my damn nerves, it's always crackling, whistling, squeaking.

H: It's puberty, it's suppose to do that.

M: NO SHIT Sherlock.... I fuckin know that... between the Clark Gable mustache, and the constant adjustments to his fly area, I figured it out... what the hell !!! 
H: Beautiful.. all I'm saying is that Dee can't help it. 
M: I know  ALL this... just wish his voice would settle on one fuckin pitch, one fuckin tone.

The conversation continued.....

I proceeded to inform him that HE got on my nerves too.

Now, fast forward later in the week.

I was taking that same drive, I started thinking of my son. I had a flash back to when he was 2. We had just come from Safeway and I was unpacking the bags and he was wandering around the house. The Fridge door was open and I was bending over (as if I was touching my toes/exercise), and all of a sudden his little butt comes out of no-where, swings the door so HARD that when the edge of it made.... up close and personal contact.... with the center of my head... I was knocked back onto my ass with some unseen/unheard force... Shit, I not only saw stars, I saw stripey circles in colors that don't exist. When I finally came to, guess who was there bending over me staring in my face, stroking my hand... MY SON