Stop going in circles
rating: +61+x

Psych dept notes:
This notebook is for researcher notes only and may not be used for formal diagnosis.

Female, humanoid, late-teenage SCP which randomly causes small scale reality shifts based on what it is thinking about - for example, the SCP has reported changing tea to coffee and causing random desired items to appear. This ability appears to be uncontrolled.

Possible depression.

The SCP prefers to be addressed as Marissa.

"I was just thinking about whether the kettle he was using was safe - we'd been having some trouble with fuses or some shit and then, well, boom. It exploded. That was it. He died. Right in front of me."

"If it's not a prison, why can't I fucking leave?"

"Really, I'm not stuck here until I'm happy, I'm stuck here until you people have as much data as possible - which means I'm stuck here basically forever, because you don't have as much data as possible until either the magical shit stops or I die. I don't particularly want to be burned at the stake for being a witch or whatever either though. Fucking catch-22."

"Where the hell could I go anyway? Escaping would be fucking pointless."

Interviews have revealed that Marissa accidentally caused the death of her father due to a reality shift, which has had an extremely negative effect on her mental health.

Marissa resents imprisonment but recognises that she doesn't have a place to go.

Reality shifts seem to becoming stronger and more frequent as mental state worsens - hypothesis that they are linked.

"I haven't had a friend my own age in thirteen fucking years, doc, and you think you know about feeling lonely? Fuck off."

"Oh, so, if I don't get my mind under control it'll keep getting worse? So it's my fault. Fantastic. I thought you were here to make me feel better..?"

"Well, shit, I don't want to accidentally hurt anyone. I guess I've got to be responsible about this bullshit, even though it's not my fault."

"Have you ever sat in a corner, wishing you could go home, only to realise you are at home, but it hasn't felt like home for as long as you can remember?"

Marissa claims desire for isolation and no desire to hurt anyone. Direct contradiction of previously professed extended loneliness.

Reality shifts continue to increase in frequency (avg 0.75 to 1/day) but seem to have reached plateau of strength - only affecting things Marissa can directly see and occasionally herself. View full SCP report for further details.

"Of course I don't want more goddamn DVDs, exciting shit happening to other people stopped being fun quite a while ago."

"Since my dreams have all died, you're here to tell me to stop the funeral and explain why I shouldn't be sad."

"Just go away, I'll only drag you down with me,"

"I don't want to be stuffed full of fifty thousand different pills, aren't I taking enough already? They're not even fucking helping,"

"You can't help me. Please stop trying."

Marissa's mental state appears to deteriorating badly as the depression worsens.

Despite her previously professing no desire for self-harm/suicide, fear risk may be increased - especially if reality shift manifests while she is thinking of self-harm etc.

Antidepressants having little effect, consider sedatives if self-harm becomes a problem/if interviews continue to show deterioration of mental state.


The Foundation researcher stepped forward, sliding her notebook into her pocket, and listened to the secure door behind her slide closed. There was an electronic whirring, a beep, and the secure door in front of her slid open. It nearly closed on her as she stepped into the containment area, which was - apart from a poster on the wall and some clothes strewn about the place - almost entirely blank, generic emptiness despite the customisation allowances made for non-violent sentient skips.

The researcher crossed the room, pulling a chair out from the grey table, and sitting down beside the bed where a teenage girl was sitting, looking through a pile of DVDs.

"Hi, Marissa," she said, clicking a pen nervously.

"What the fuck do you want, Sharon? It hasn't been a week." Marissa replied, dropping the DVDs, picking up a remote, and lying back on the bed to look at the wall-mounted television.

"Our session was pushed forward because it seems you've been getting progressively angrier recently. How are you feeling?" Sharon said, undiscouraged by Marissa's apparent apathy.

Marissa sighed and continued flicking through channels. "You thought I was angry so you decided to come down here and piss me off? How exactly do you keep your job? And of course I've been getting angrier."

Sharon ignored the insult, knowing that it was purely defensive. "What do you mean by 'of course', Marissa?"

Marissa turned away from the screen, looking directly at Sharon. "I don't want to be here. Therefore, every day I'm here, I get a little more annoyed." Marissa turned back to the television. "It's not fucking rocket science, Sharon."

Sharon sighed inwardly and, knowing it was pointless, asked the standard question for what felt like the thousandth time - "Is there any way I can make this any better for you?"

Marissa ignored the question completely, knowing it was just a stock phrase, there only for completeness. "I didn't ask for any of this." she said, under her breath.

"Any of what, Marissa?" Sharon asked, leaning forward slightly.

Marissa dropped the television remote. "Anything. This room, this place. I don't like anything about it. I didn't ask for these fucking abilities. You don't know what it's like, constantly watching your thoughts, trying to make sure nothing changes in your hand because you'd rather have a coffee or that the floor doesn't start to disintegrate under your feet because you were thinking about the beach."

She paused for a second, then turned to face Sharon, leaning in enough to cause the researcher to lean back. "This is bullshit and I hate it and you and everyone and everything. Why are you even talking to me? I don't know anything you need to know and I don't have anything you want and I'm not your friend, I'm a locked-up freak."

Sharon remained composed. "I'm talking to you because I want to help you. I th-"

Marissa cut across her. "Help me what? Leave? Because leaving would be marginally better than being here. This shit doesn't work well enough for me to be a threat to anyone on purpose, I just want to be left alone." Marissa let herself fall back onto the bed and began flicking through TV channels again.

Sharon fumbled for a response before rallying with, "If we can figure out how this is happening to you, we can figure out how to help more people than just you - we can maybe help lots of people with similar conditions."

Marissa seethed silently for a second, then sat up and looked directly into Sharon's eyes, the intensity of her expression causing the researcher to flinch.

"Fuck. Them." She said, her voice serious and leaden.

Sharon stuttered. "I- What? Do you hate them?"

Marissa rolled her eyes. "I don't hate them, I just don't give a shit. I do not have any shits left to give. I ran out of shits sometime around the point I was first thrown in a cell and I ran out of fucks when I realised I'd never get to leave. Why the fuck would I hate them? I've never met them."

Marissa stood up as she ranted, knocking over the chair that was beside her small table and striding around the room. She would've kicked things out of the way and knocked people over if any were present.

"Sure, life outside dealing with this shit isn't much better - but at least I could do what I liked and I didn't have shrinks and doctors and researchers and interns fucking poking at me and running shitty tests all the fucking time. At least I could wear what I wanted and go where I liked and I didn't have to wear this fucking government issue bullshit jewellery." She gestured at the metal tracker bracelet on her left wrist. "Fuck this 'designation' dickery anyway." She kicked the chair again and glared at Sharon, waiting for a response she didn't want but knowing that there was not really a whole lot else to do in the cell.

Sharon waited looked down at her clipboard. "It sounds to me like your depression is getting much worse, and, uh…"
Marissa's face twitched slightly as Sharon flipped some pages on a clipboard, but she waited for the end of the sentence.
"…you're probably developing some severe control and anger issues, too…" Sharon trailed off again under Marissa's enraged stare.

Marissa threw her hands up in a mockery of celebration. "Well fucking done, doc. I think you've cured me and everyone else dealing with issues in a fifty foot radius! Hey, does that mean you're next to be locked up in one of these cells? That's gotta be some magical bullshit right there!"

Sharon managed to keep her expression blank. "…I'm sorry?"

Marissa began to stride around the room again. "Take a person, give them the ability to change reality, but have it only happen at random points and make it so that it changes to whatever they're thinking about. Let them have no control over this. Let them watch their father die because of a stray thought."

Then, lock them in a jail and reduce their choices to 'what way do you want to be bored today?' and 'which shitty meal do you want?', of course they're going to have control issues. Of course they're going to be angry. Of course they're going to be fucking depressed."

What the fuck did you expect? That I'd be the smiling ambassador for the magical happy land of sunshine and rainbows? Am I supposed to turn around and tell you how you're a real brilliant shrink, and this is such a great insight that I think I might be cured? Fuuuuck yooou." Marissa kicked the table, not really sure how to continue ranting but not really willing to stop.

Sharon said, "Well, no, of course you're not going to be 'cured' instantly - I'm not a miracle worker. But if you work with me a bit here, we can get your treatment plan modified so that you're not dealing with quite as much depression and anger - or at least, so that it doesn't get any worse."

Marissa turned away. "No, you fucking cannot. That is bullshit, and you know it."

Sharon sighed. "I know you don't trust psych-"

Marissa interrupted her again. "I don't trust you. Not shrinks. You."

"Me in particular? Why?" Sharon asked.

Marissa flopped into a sitting position on the bed. "Not just you. You and your whole organisation. You keep me locked up here. You talk about 'making me better.' You can't just fuck off and leave me alone. You know what would make me feel better? If I could leave that would be great. I like that treatment plan - you can call it 'the most obvious fucking thing in the world' and patent it for use in your fucking prisons or whatever."

Sharon said, "You know we don't run prisons, Marissa - many of our, uh, patients would die or kill a lot of people if left to their own devices. Anyway, I thought you said that life wasn't really that much better when you were left to yourself?"

Marissa didn't really have a good answer to the question. Sniffling, she rubbed her eyes. "Yeah, well, not really all that much better is still better. Anyway, if it's not a prison, why can't I fucking leave? Why do I gotta wear a damn bracelet with a designation number and probably some sort of tracker bullshit?"

Sharon looked directly into Marissa's eyes. "You know the danger you can cause to people, even if you don't mean to. I don't think you really want that."

Marissa looked away. "You don't fucking know what I want. I don't know what I want. I just know I don't want this life," she sobbed. "I just want to be left alone."

Sharon waited a minute for Marissa to compose herself a bit then said, "It seems like you haven't, but I have to ask, have you felt like hurting yourself?"

Marissa didn't know whether to cry or smash the television. "I don't want to commit suicide or hurt myself, you idiot. I'm human and humans want to survive, not to die. It sucks balls. I didn't ask to be given this, this fucking 'desire' to keep going, but it's bullshit. I want my fucking money back."

Sharon made some notes on her clipboard. Marissa mumbled something to herself and Sharon asked her to repeat it.

Marissa said, "I don't wish I was dead. No one wants that. Not really."

Sharon looked at her quizzically. "What?"

Marissa practically jumped off the bed, knocking the table over, looked at Sharon and, sobbing, yelled "I don't wish I was dead - I just wish I didn't fucking exist, ok?! Life would be better if I had never been born, and none of this shit had ever fucking happened."


Sharon looked around the empty room, wondering why she was there. It looked a lot like a humanoid containment area, but there was no bed, no television, no furniture or fittings at all except for the chair she sat in and the standard table, bolted to the floor. Standing up, she wobbled on her feet a bit and nearly fell back down, holding onto the table to regain her balance.

After taking a few deep breaths, she strode quickly to the exit, trying to tell herself that she wasn't panicking. Looking around the corridor outside of the cell, she saw the nearby security post was empty. Walking through the door of the security post, she picked up a phone from the desk and dialed her supervisor's extension.

"Doctor Palmer? It's Sharon. I think I may have been amnesticised. My schedule says, uh -" she pulled her notebook from her pocket and flicked through a couple of pages, "-I was due to interview, uh, SCP-055 at this time? I'm at the security post outside its cell."

The response was a few seconds coming. "…what? 055? Standby, Sharon, I'll send a medical team to your location. Don't move."

Sharon hung up the phone and sat in the security post chair to await the medical team. She looked back through the plexiglass at the containment cell door and, not knowing entirely why, began to cry in grief, feeling as if something precious had been lost.

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