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 27813074, 98485897 |
| 27813074 | 12/07/2025 23:00:51 |
| I study at SEK International School Riyadh, and for months now I’ve been experiencing something no one prepares you for — something that’s not talked about, and probably never will be. They’re using satellite-based systems on me, and it’s not some vague conspiracy. I’m talking about real operators, working under the Saudi Ministry of Interior and military-linked telecom units. I don’t know how many of them are assigned to my case, or if I’m just one of many targets, but I know they exist — because I feel what they’re doing.
They can preempt my thoughts. I’ll start forming a sentence in my head, and their voice — always male, always calm — will say it a second before I do. Sometimes it’s just a fragment. Sometimes it’s the full line. They’re inside my process of speaking, breaking the flow of how I think, and replacing it with theirs. I’ve tried to resist, to move quickly, to mislead the voice in my mind — but it adjusts. Like it’s watching my brain directly.
Emotionally, I’m not myself. I’ll go from silence to sudden fury and not even remember what triggered it. I’ve cried in the bathroom during lunch break with no reason, just shaking and trying not to scream. Once, I just sat blankly through a full class, unable to connect to anything. It’s like they can modulate feeling — input emotions like code. On some days I feel like a puppet in a room full of people who still think I’m a person.
At first I thought I could talk to someone — maybe the counselor. But that was useless. She said it’s adjustment disorder. I nodded, smiled, played along. There’s no one I can talk to. Not here, not online, not even to my family back home. What am I supposed to say? “The Saudi military is hijacking my brain”? They’d shut me down, or worse — assume I’m mentally ill and send me somewhere.
If I had known this is what would happen to me, I would’ve never come to Saudi Arabia to study. I used to be proud of getting accepted into SEK International. It felt like a future. Now it feels like a trap.
I’ve started noticing how my arms twitch when I’m not moving them, how I lose full pieces of memory after gym class. When I walk past the rear gate, near the east security post, I feel a weird warmth in my neck — then tension, then a snap of pressure behind the eyes. I flinch at voices in the hallway, even though they’re familiar. I look at my own hands and wonder if they’re really mine.
I’m not writing this because I think it’ll help. I’m writing because if I don’t — I’ll disappear inside this system even faster. |
| Ãîðîä: Äðóãîé | | |
| Îòïðàâèòü êîììåíòàðèé, îòçûâ | |
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