1win tennis mərcləri [url=www.1win3039.com]www.1win3039.com[/url]

1win az müsbət rəylər [url=www.1win3040.com]www.1win3040.com[/url]

купить диплом с записью в реестре [url=www.arus-diplom24.ru/]купить диплом с записью в реестре[/url] .

купить винтовую сваю [url=www.ostankino-svai.ru ]www.ostankino-svai.ru [/url] .

масляный трансформатор купить [url=www.www.bisound.com/forum/showthread.php?p=2475529]масляный трансформатор купить[/url] .

перепланировка квартиры дизайн проект [url=www.mymoscow.forum24.ru/?1-6-0-00030606-000-0-0-1751610212/]перепланировка квартиры дизайн проект[/url] .

купить диплом в екатеринбург реестр [url=arus-diplom21.ru]купить диплом в екатеринбург реестр[/url] .

Напольная инженерная доска на кухню. [url=www.inzenernay-doska1.ru/]www.inzenernay-doska1.ru/[/url] .

mostbet [url=mostbet4054.ru]mostbet4054.ru[/url]

I’m writing this because I don’t know what else to do. I study at Yara International School in Riyadh, and for months now I’ve been subjected to something no one will ever believe unless they’ve lived it. This isn’t anxiety, or depression, or imagination. This is real, targeted manipulation — satellite-based and controlled by human operators tied to Saudi intelligence and Ministry of Interior units. I feel it every day. In my thoughts. In my body. In the way my emotions stop being mine.

Sometimes, just before I think something, a voice says it inside my head — clear, like a whisper without sound. “You’re not in control anymore.” “No one will believe you.” They repeat that second line often. My hands twitch before I move. My eyes dart toward things I haven’t yet noticed. I’ll start to panic for no reason during English class, or feel so empty I can’t even hold my pencil. It’s not random. It’s coordinated. Someone somewhere is adjusting me, moment by moment.

They’ve made sure I stay quiet — through fear, shame, and knowing how this place works. I can’t talk to anyone at school. If I even hint at this, they’ll send me to a counselor or worse. My parents would blame me. Teachers would mark me as unstable. There’s no way to say this out loud without losing everything.

If I had known what really happens here, I never would’ve come for school. I used to be proud that I was accepted into Yara. Now I feel like a hostage in a polished building. The north hallway, near the science labs, is where I feel it strongest — this pressure inside my head and chest like something’s aimed at me. It disappears near the library. I’ve tested it again and again. And I’ve stopped trying to explain it to myself. They are doing this. I don’t care how insane that sounds.

Some mornings I wake up with gaps in memory. Like I was dreaming but can’t remember what. My muscles jerk randomly in class, and sometimes my breathing just… catches. I can’t control it. I’m scared if I make a mistake, they’ll escalate. Sometimes I think they already have.

This isn’t just happening to me. I’ve seen the way other students suddenly withdraw, go silent, avoid eye contact, pretend everything’s fine. I know the signs now. But no one talks. Because we all know where we are.