From the shifting sands of Saudi Arabia to the suffocating grip of mental illness, Eeta's world has been forged in chaos and survival. That’s where their words come from—scar-deep, raw, and unflinching. Born with an insatiable curiosity, they have spent years wandering through the worlds of English literature, Greek philosophy, medicine, fashion, and art. Their journey has been anything but linear—a kaleidoscope of passions and reinventions that shaped them into the storyteller they are today.
Schizophrenia. Bipolar disorder. Gender dysphoria. A congenital heart condition. These aren’t just diagnoses; they’re battlegrounds. Realities Eeta wrestles with, rips open, and bleeds onto the page. Their poetry doesn’t whisper “it gets better.” It seizes you by the throat and drags you into the dark, daring you to face your own shadows.
Self-harm scars, medication fog, two suicide attempts—they’re not tragedies—they’re chapters.
Present Life, Art and Solitude
Eeta found refuge in creation. The more broken they felt, the more they sought refuge in bold colors, daring jewelry designs, and the power of self-expression. Creation isn’t just a passion; it’s a form of resistance.
For Eeta, being alone is about being true to oneself. No forced smiles, no empty talks. Utter isolation, rawness, and bleeding wounds. Crochet and painting are not hobbies; they are survival rituals. A method of repairing a fractured self—one stitch, one verse, and one brushstroke at a time.
Traveling, for Eeta, isn’t about chasing sunsets or checking off bucket lists. It’s about outrunning the whisperers, even if only temporarily. Every new location provides a little respite, a halt in the storm. But shadows always catch up.
Eeta Noire
Eeta Writes Because the Night Won’t End
The poetry started in their teenage years, tucked away in their father’s library, surrounded by Arabic tomes. There were no poetry books. No guides. Just shadows clinging to the shelves, whispering in the dark. Writing wasn’t a hobby—it was survival. A lifeline in the suffocating silence.
From surgery classes to unraveling the threads of history in textiles, every path they’ve taken has left its mark. Now diving into molecular medicine, they continue to embrace the chaos of learning, unafraid to begin again. When not creating or exploring, they’re feeding their restless mind, chasing knowledge, or sitting among ruins, whispering to ghosts.
