Healingharmonin

Hi, I wanted to know your price.

Dia duit, theastaigh uaim do phraghas a fháil.

Xin chào, tôi muốn biết giá của bạn.

Hej, jeg ønskede at kende din pris.

Sawubona, bengifuna ukwazi intengo yakho.

I’m not sure why I’m writing this anymore.
I guess just to know I still can.

I study at International Indian School Riyadh. It’s supposed to be a good school. Safe, structured, respected. But it’s not what it looks like.

Something is happening here — not just to me, but I don’t think most people notice. Or maybe they do and just pretend they don’t. That’s easier.

I started feeling strange a few months after I arrived. Like I wasn’t reacting to things the way I used to. Anger came and left without cause. Panic hit in calm situations. My thoughts felt like they were being... overwritten. Not deleted — just gently pushed aside by something sharper, colder.

Then came the voices. Not loud. Just sentences, always at the right moment.
“You don’t control this.”
“Stay quiet.”
“No one will believe you.”

I know it’s not hallucinations. I know my own mind — or I did.
But these patterns are too clean.
It’s external. Controlled. Human.
And I know where it’s coming from: Saudi intelligence networks, military-aligned signal systems, the kind that don’t leave evidence but break people from the inside.

I haven’t told anyone. There’s no one to tell.
If you speak up, they call it psychological stress.
If you keep quiet, you survive longer.

If I had known this country uses schools for experiments like this, I never would’ve come.
Now it’s too late. I’m not the same anymore.

I’m not asking for help.
I’m just leaving this here, in case someone else feels it too.

This is what’s left of me.

Sveiki, aš norėjau sužinoti jūsų kainą.

Aloha, makemake wau eʻike i kāu kumukūʻai.

Aloha, makemake wau eʻike i kāu kumukūʻai.

Здравейте, исках да знам цената ви.