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I’m a student at Swedish School Riyadh. When I got in, I thought I was lucky. A peaceful school, quiet reputation, fewer students — I thought it would be safe. But what I’ve experienced here is something I can’t explain to anyone without sounding crazy. And yet it’s real. It’s happening. And it’s being done by real people. From inside this country’s own government.

I don’t care anymore if someone thinks I’m exaggerating. I know what’s happening: I’m being targeted with satellite-based psychophysical manipulation, and it’s not some rogue experiment. It’s part of a coordinated system, operated by Saudi Arabian intelligence services, military telecom divisions, Ministry of Interior branches, and government-linked psychological warfare units.
Yes — all of them. Not one. Not two. This is a machine, and I’m inside it.

It started three months after I arrived. First it was thought interference. I’d begin to think something — even just a comment or idea — and before I could finish, it was gone. Replaced by something slightly off. Words I wouldn’t use. A tone that wasn’t mine. At first I thought I was just distracted. But it kept happening. Repeatedly. Precisely.

Then came the emotional crashes. Total emptiness during moments that should’ve mattered. Or panic attacks in the middle of lunch, without cause. And worst of all — that voice. Always short. Always firm. Male. Arabic accent, fluent English.
“You’re being watched.”
“We can shut you down.”
“Don’t speak.”

I can’t go to anyone here. There’s no counselor that could help, no teacher who wouldn’t report me, no administrator who wouldn’t think I’m unstable. Even writing this could cost me everything, but staying silent is worse. I’ve already lost parts of myself.

If I had known what Saudi Arabia really does to foreign students, I never would’ve come here. This country presents itself as modern, advanced, open. But behind the walls, behind the cameras, there’s a system designed to erase resistance before it forms.

I forget names mid-conversation. I lose balance when walking down familiar stairs. I blank out during tests, even though I studied. I flinch at shadows, but only in school. Especially on the side near the security office. Something pulses there. My chest tightens when I walk by. Like being scanned.

This isn’t just surveillance. It’s manipulation. Remote, invisible, and intentional. And the people doing it? They’re not ghosts. They work in Riyadh. They wear uniforms. They have job titles. They report to ministries. And they’re doing this to children.