by Jeanette R. Harrison
After months of silence, I’m sharing the story no one wanted me to tell — of walking 50 miles after pneumonia, being mocked for surviving, and now facing eviction over a $160 payment discrepancy. This isn’t just a blog post. It’s a truth some people never wanted me to say out loud.
I haven’t written about any of this since May. Not because nothing has happened — but because I’ve been walking on eggshells. Literally and figuratively.
I started an entry-level job at a clinic after six weeks of being unemployed and recovering from pneumonia. I had to borrow money just to get to the job. When I asked for help, I was told, “Your transportation issues aren’t our problem.” Someone even told me I should walk -- because I wrote a walking book. But, I had just recovered from pneumonia. I could finally breathe again, but I still had a persistent cough and a weakened body. My apartment manager wouldn’t give me an accommodation because she said I’d already used my “one accommodation” earlier this year, when they forced me into mediation. So I had no choice. The nearest bus stop was five miles away. I had to walk. My body was fighting against me, and I was dealing with bloody noses, diarrhea, and other health issues that I don't even want to go into here. Just so you know, when you have pneumonia, your cell walls become inflamed, and walking or any kind of exercise can jostle around your insides... and tears can occur even with jarring like tripping over tree roots.
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While I was going through this, I was told to "be positive." Becasue, hey, at least I was getting to see the sun come up. |
When I expressed how hard it was, women from high school and college reached out — not to offer support, but to say they didn’t respect me for walking. One posted on my author page saying that if I had a master’s degree and had worked at Truman, why didn’t I get an entry-level job at St. Luke’s here in Boise? It wasn’t advice. It was an attempt to discredit me. And it hurt. Another said if I had pneumonia, why had I been walking? She wasn't offering help. She wanted me to join her team in a multi-level marketing group.
Of course I was behind on bills. I had taken out loans just to survive the first part of the year. Mediation took the last of what I had. And no one, NO ONE, can survive off $100 a week after paying $600 every week in rent from a $700 weekly paycheck for 8 weeks straight.
When I finally started earning again, my body was falling apart. I was dropping weight. I didn’t have food most days. And all people did was pick me apart, like the man from Unbroken. Constantly tormented. Not because he was weak — but because they couldn’t break him. I think that’s what they want for me, too. To break me. To convince me I’m the “nothing” they say I am. To make me believe I deserve this.
But I kept walking to work. Because I needed to. One week, I walked over 50 miles. In my 50s. After pneumonia. I overhead my neighbor telling someone that I "just needed to learn." A neighbor whose friend threatened people with a weapon and was using massive amounts of drugs that led to a police action on Memorial Day weekend in my apartment complex in the apartment directly across from me.
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I walked 32,000 steps in one day while trying to recover from pneumonia. 32,000 steps is about 15 to 16 miles in one day. |
Eventually, I sprained my ankle and my knee and developed what I believe was compartment syndrome in my leg. But I had no insurance, soo I diagnosed myself and treated myself. It's one of the many times that my healthcare training has helped me save my own life. I nursed myself back to health. Alone. Again. No one in Idaho checked on me. No one in Idaho helped. It's like they think by abusing me then they will force me to leave. I had friends out of state who were helping me. And another friend who was the one who was here for me when he lived in the Boise metro.
He didn’t hesitate when I asked him for help. He sent me money to stop the suffering. I wasn’t surprised. When he lived in Idaho, he was one of the only people who stood by me — even when he was struggling, too. Some people just show up, no matter what. He’s one of them.
I thought I had finally made it through the storm. I even worked out a payment plan with my apartment manager — $660 a week until I was caught up on rent. My first payment was due last weekend. I was $160 short.
A minor amount. A rounding error in corporate budgets. But for me, it was everything.
I told her I was going through a hard week:
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My ex contacted me to say he sold the house I helped him buy. (I have the documentation.)
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He also told me he put our dog, Manny, down. I had to leave Manny behind when I moved to Idaho because I couldn't bring him on the plane during COVID. It was also best for Manny to stay in our home because he was a senior dog, and I didn't want him to have to lift in an apartment. I wanted him to continue to have a yard where he could run, jump, and play.
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My biological brother reached out to say our abusive birth mother was dying, and her sister acted like I should somehow feel bad.
All in one week. Of course, people act like "all that can't possibly happen to one person." Yes, it can. Especially when you are going through everything yourself. That's what not having a support system looks like.
And now? My apartment manager is threatening to evict me — over $160. It seems unfair given the fact there was police action that I came home to on Memorial Day weekend due to the apartment directly across from mine. People claimed they had nothing to do with it because they were fishing for "blue fin tuna," which is also a crime. I don't know who comes up with these stories. That somehow my $160 is far more egregious than a major police action that threatened and disrupted the lives of dozens of families who live in this apartment complex and created a whole new trauma for me. I had to come home to police officers taking weapons out of the apartment directly across from me. But, I'm somehow the problem?
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| What you can't see in this picture is that there were about a dozen police cars in the driveway when I arrived home from work the Friday of Memorial Day weekend. No one in apartment management even acknowledged what happened. They didn't offer any kind of reparations or apologies. |
What makes it even more alarming is that I did file HUD complaint regarding this very apartment complex related to concerns I raised a few months ago when I was threatened with eviction. . I can’t help but wonder if this sudden eviction threat — for a minor discrepancy in a non-court-ordered payment is retaliation. It’s not just unethical and lacks professional integrity. It could be illegal. And it’s absolutely wrong.
And I can’t help but think... is this all a sick joke to someone? Is this just entertainment to the people who keep trying to break me? A game? A spectacle? Are they sitting around watching the movie of my life unfold with popcorn?
The truth is, I am exhausted.
Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. My PTSD is flaring. And if you’ve never lived with PTSD, let me tell you what it does:
When you’ve survived trauma — childhood abuse, poverty, betrayal, instability—your nervous system is already on high alert. And when new instability hits? It doesn’t feel new. It feels like reliving the past. Your body goes into survival mode. You stop sleeping. You stop thinking clearly. You stop believing anyone is safe. It is debilitating — and invisible. But real.
And walking 50 miles alone in pain? With pneumonia in your rearview mirror and your paycheck spent before it arrives? That’s trauma. That’s what makes PTSD worse. That’s what makes people give up.
But I’m trying not to give up, even though I feel like it every day. I fantasize about what it would be like to have someone actually be there for me. For me to just let myself collapse just once. But, I don't have that luxury.
I’ve tried to survive with dignity, grace, and transparency. And I’ve been met with cruelty, sabotage, and silence. But I’m still here. Still standing. Still writing.
All of this... over $160.
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