by Tehnuka
The only proven successful approach to managing post-viral rapid-onset telepathy syndrome (PV-ROTS) is finding a reliable focus to occupy the telepathic system. This prevents overloading from multiple and/or unknown thought-sources.
The following excerpt from patient C’s diary is presented, with permission, as an anecdotal account of their illness onset, including some early strategies for self-management of symptoms.
15 July
The fever broke, after hours of nightmares. I was worried about someone—a friend? Woke sweaty and exhausted, but keen to get up. I came to sit in the sun and saw Jean had left a thermos of pumpkin soup by the door. Figured it was Jean after switching on my phone to fifty missed calls interspersed with messages:
Left soup!
it’s by the door
lmk when u get it? :)
Guess you’re sleeping, rest up!
Are you alive?
Texted to say thanks to the first, yes to the second, and I hoped we could reschedule when I’m better.
It’s nice in the garden. A blackbird splashing in a puddle, daffodils that think it’s spring already, woodsmoke from someone’s log burner down the street. Everything’s sharp and bright—smells, sounds, colours—after being stuck in bed for three days. Now: soup, and back to sleep in my damp, horrid sheets.
16 July
Clean bedding! Jean came ‘for the thermos’ and brought another batch of soup (tomato. Pretended to like it. They heated it up in front of me—what else could I do?) They washed yesterday’s thermos themselves and helped wrangle bedsheets.
Seeing me snotty and gross, and helping clean up, might’ve ruined everything before we really get to know each other. But it seemed they mostly felt sorry for me? Guess I should be grateful to have anyone who cares. Anyway, Whispers distracted me by chasing her tail before I could wallow. What a sweetheart [1].
17 July
Mushroom soup. It’s…mushroomy. Jean brought their casting stick to use with my TV and suggested having our date right then. After they spent half an hour setting up, I started bawling at the start of the movie—I don’t even cry in front of the cat, so that surprised all three of us.
I could just about hear the ‘oh shit oh shit you screwed up’ running through Jean’s mind. Once I’d reassured them it was only hormones or something, we tried chess. They won the last four times; I couldn’t finish an easy sudoku this morning, so knew my brain wasn’t up to it. But they played a really predictable game—I won in ten minutes! They were happy and didn’t let on, joking that they deserved credit for feeding me back to health and pretending to be miffed about losing. I could tell they were happy anyway. They squeezed my hand before leaving, so…I’m pretty happy too.
18 July
Sat in the garden again. Porridge for lunch (no soup—Jean’s working late at their office). It was soothing to think of nothing, watch a column of ants march up the fence paling and monarch butterflies enjoying the sunshine. I was content until two kids walked past arguing. No idea what about—seems their tone was enough to ruin my mood. Felt better after coming in for a snuggle with Whispers. Obviously not ready to deal with people again, but sick leave runs out soon. I’ll have to manage somehow.
19 July
Something’s wrong.
Jean offered to work here this afternoon, if I’d like company. I said yes! And even dredged up energy to vacuum before they arrived. Then I got stressed when their bike clattered up the driveway. Opening the door, I could imagine what they were thinking:
‘Too much work to do.’ — Obviously I was worried I’d imposed on them, even though they’d offered to come.
‘Is this worth it?’ — Tried to ignore that. It was them who asked me out; why should I be invested? But I am.
‘This is too pushy, I’ve moved too fast.’ — Surely this was my own nerves about attempting a relationship, after committing to only ever loving a cat?
I’ve always worried about what other people thought of me, just not this vividly. Maybe this is what dating is like? I shouldn’t have agreed to Jean coming, but then they’d think I wasn’t interested.
Whispers slept on me. Jean made tea. We studied the chess board from the other day and talked about pizza for dinner before they opened their laptop. I napped, but kept dreaming about emails that gave me a headache. Then, the inbox I was scrolling through became the movement of my surroundings on a dark street, and my headache turned into the pressure of a too-tight motorbike helmet. I was riding slowly, cold and tired, squinting at letterboxes, worried I was late with the delivery and the customers would be angry.
When I woke, Jean was answering the door. Sure enough, there was the food. And an overwhelming sense of relief from the woman holding out the box, at Jean’s smile.
I knew she was relieved at Jean’s smile. She was sick of the smell of tomato and baked bread, and dashing about on a bike she’d only just learned to ride, but every time a customer smiled it was okay—at least for that brief moment until she was on her own again, off to another uncertain delivery. She wished she’d worn warmer clothes. She wished she could’ve got a daytime shift.
Jean’s hunger and headache, I might’ve read from their face and the way they kept touching their temples. The delivery person, though? How was I certain of her thoughts [2]?
“Work going okay?” I asked, and Jean turned their smile on me.
“It’ll be better after food. I’ve been overwhelmed by emails piling up. I have a plan now, though.”
“Yeah, an auto-reply sounds like a good idea. Even better if it lets you use next weekend to have a break, not catch up on work.”
Jean cocked her head. “That’s exactly what I was thinking!”
She hadn’t said it aloud, though.
Accidentally mind-reading someone’s to-do list isn’t the worst problem. Picking up all their doubts—not just about their job, but also about your relationship with them—might be. And like anything you attempt to put out of your head, the more you try to avoid it, the more you can’t [3]. In the time it took to fetch plates, I caught something about a previous unhappy, reluctant relationship, and a need for reassurance. Jean finished two slices of pizza while analyzing the way I ate for clues about my feelings, mulling over office drama, fighting their headache and enjoying Whispers’ claws clacking over the wooden floor.
I spent this time tearing the crust off a slice one millimeter at a time, choking down tiny, rubbery bites and trying to ignore Jean’s internal monologue. They worried about leaving me by myself when I could barely eat. They worried about staying if I’d rather be alone.
I put them out of their misery. “I’m a bit tired. Sorry, Jean, I might go to bed. You should stay and finish dinner, keep Whispers company.”
They left, of course. I was relieved. Whatever I was doing, however I was doing it, it was unfair. Worse than eavesdropping—no one expects to be overheard when they’re thinking. And, morals aside, I couldn’t cope. Their thoughts were sweet and caring; I’d never judge their messiness—but it’s hard enough keeping track of just my own all-over-the-place brain.
Or maybe it’s my own all-over-the-place brain malfunctioning.
Now, Whispers is meowing outside my door, and I can’t stop thinking about cat biscuits or Jean. What’s set this off—my anxiety? Fever dreams that haven’t gone? Do I tell Jean this won’t work? It isn’t just them; it happened with the pizza delivery, and there are ten floors of people in my office, so what do I do when my sick leave finishes? What happens when the cat food runs out?
20 July
I have the answer to that last one. Walked to the supermarket first thing, trying to focus on physical things to help stay out of my head, and anyone else’s. The firmness of pavement under my feet, the glistening of low-angle sunlight off wet leaves blocking the stormwater drains, the rumble of distant traffic, the smell of the inside of my nose. An occasional ‘late for work’ or ‘damn those kids’ interrupted, so I knew last night wasn’t a one-off, but that early in the morning I had the resolve to replace thoughts with sensations.
It all went wrong at the supermarket. There were thirty or forty cars parked outside, so I approached expecting trouble. The few passing thoughts on the covered walkway to the entrance grew to a gentle hum. Then the doors slid open, and everything rushed at me.
‘Carrots, onions, pineapple juice.’
‘Maybe it’s out of stock. What can I tell her? Where else is open this early?’
‘I can’t stand one more aggressive customer, I just can’t.’
‘Carrots, onions, pineapple juice.’
‘Gosh, I’m hungry. Where’s the junk food in this place?’
‘Results are out today.’
‘Ugh, the dead animal aisle.’
‘Carrots, onions, pineapple juice.’
I’m proud of myself for not collapsing right there by the doors, if only because it wouldn’t have made the thoughts go away faster. I came straight home and put in an online bulk order for cat food delivery.
Jean texted to ask how I am. Haven’t replied yet because I found another horrible side to this telepathy. Skittery ideas of birds and butterflies and cat biscuits bounce around my mind while Whispers licks her paws on the windowsill. Her thoughts aren’t as overwhelming as the supermarket din, but they are more acute, jolting me out of focus. I couldn’t stand giving her up—but can I stand living stuck half inside a cat’s head?
21 July
Jean rang. Managed to put aside blackbirds in puddles and the still water in Whispers’ bowl—I should keep that further away from her litter tray, shouldn’t I? —long enough to chat. I knew, as soon as I picked up, that Jean was sick. But they hadn’t realised, and only said they still had that headache so would stay home. I felt their concern when they asked how I was.
I probably gave them that nasty bug I had. What could I say? ‘That shivery tight-muscled feeling? That’s exactly how I felt before that infection. Soz.’ Poor Jean. Didn’t try to ask about their illness in case I screwed it up. Besides, they were asking about me again, and I had to say something.
The first time I like anyone who isn’t a cat, and I’m deceiving them already. How long does telepathy take to wear off? How do I manage until then?
Then I thought: Whispers knows I like her because she’s fed and stroked and allowed to sleep on my bed. She doesn’t care about insightful conversation. Maybe Jean doesn’t always need it, either? I mentioned the cat food order, saying the trip to the supermarket had been too much. That bit of news, I could share without explanation. Jean can assume I was too fatigued to handle lights and noise. It isn’t that far from the truth.
22 July
Jean rang, again, to let me know they’re sick. They weren’t annoyed that they may have caught it from me, but they were worried I’d hear accusation in their voice. So I didn’t apologise, in case they’d think I was being defensive.
This is hard.
I want to help, but how? I can’t take a thermos of soup over, change their sheets, go to the pharmacy—not when I can barely stand being alone with my cat. They didn’t ask for help, saying they hoped I was getting plenty of rest, and meaning it.
I feel awful.
23 July
Whispers has been running around like anything, cheering me up [4].
24 July
Texted Jean and offered to get them a food delivery. Not great for my budget—I’m on unpaid leave from today until my brain’s sorted out—but didn’t know what else to do.
Jean: ‘That’s ok thanks, got loads of frozen soup from cooking for you!’
Are they reminding me of that because they’re annoyed I didn’t offer to do the same?
I actually thought about calling, so I could know how they felt.
25 July
Written words seem okay. Searched online for info on rapid-onset telepathy. Found: stuff about aliens, evil scientist conspiracy theories, people who can move things with their brains [5].
Then Whispers caught a whiff of a mouse. I both wanted it and really didn’t. Had to throw up. Ugh.
Do I call Jean?
26 July
Ants. Do you know how ants think? I risked the garden in the early morning, when there’d be fewer passers-by in the street. Then came the scurrying, the drive for food, the relentless march. I’ve learned to tune out Whispers, a bit, but there were so many of the ants. Don’t know how I’ll ever leave the house again.
Sent my own ‘Are you alive?’ text.
Would I feel it if they weren’t?
27 July
Jean, an absolute angel, came over. They shouldn’t have exerted, not when they’re only a couple of days past being ill. They meant it to be a surprise visit but I felt them cycling up the driveway, and the weight of their backpack on their shoulders. I was relieved, but didn’t know what to do. I tried the techniques I did walking to the supermarket to keep out of their head. I’ve been practising with Whispers. Maybe because I know her well, it sort of works. It’s harder with the animals in the garden. But who needs to go outside anyway, right?
I waited until they knocked to open the door.
“Jean! How are you?”
Then I saw the tupperware they were pulling out of their bag. Another round of tomato soup. As if there wasn't enough to pretend about.
Their smile disappeared. “Oh! I’m sorry, I thought you liked this soup, or I’d never…”
“I…”
We stared at each other. Whispers rubbed against my legs, eyeing the garden. Jean picked her up before she could dash outdoors.
“Thanks,” I said.
“So…what else is there to pretend about, besides the soup?” they asked.
Or maybe they thought it, I’m not sure [6].
Here’s the good news. It’s been strangely easy to sit together, sharing space, thoughts, and understanding. I know how Jean’s ex made them feel, without them trying to explain; that they think I’m smart, witty, and observant. They know I don’t understand small talk and non-feline people (they’d guessed already), and that they’re the kindest person I’ve ever met. Turns out it’s easier to let someone in when they’re already in.
One thing’s actually better than before: our thoughts are less chaotic with no differences between what we say and what we think. And when we focus on each other, other minds can’t interrupt so easily [7]. Cat biscuits and a desire to chase butterflies flit through sometimes. Mostly, there’s a hush around the two of us.
Jean knows I’d never have knowingly let them catch telepathy. But maybe we’re lucky to have this with one another [8]? We’ll learn to shut other thoughts out, save our energy, brave the outside. If we can’t… at least we have each other.
We need to come up with a new way to play chess, though.
#
Footnotes:
1. During the period covered by their journal, Patient C began picking up the feelings of their cat with increasing intensity, corresponding to an increase in telepathic strength (characteristic of the first days following infection).
2. Many interviewees first became conscious of their telepathy around strangers. As demonstrated by Patient C, this could be because we are less likely to have a deep interest in strangers’ thoughts, or dismiss any telepathic input as our own projections.
3. Awareness of this phenomenon is crucial: advice such as ‘try not to listen’ is unhelpful and ignores the nature of persistent telepathic thoughts.
4. Animals offer a chance for those with PV-ROTS to practise ‘tuning out’ external thoughts. The use of support animals to provide ‘happy’ telepathic moods will seem tempting. However, we strongly recommend further research in this area. This approach should only be attempted by those with experience of managing PV-ROTS and some control over telepathically-received moods.
5. A key challenge highlighted by interviewees was the lack of publicly available peer-reviewed science on PV-ROTS while they were symptomatic and searching for a possible diagnosis.
6. While it remains a little-publicised illness, due to potential stigma associated with PV-ROTS (perception of telepathy as a ‘superpower’ and/or an unethical activity, rather than as a severe illness), most resort to isolation. Thus, as in the case of patient C and ‘Jean’, disclosure is typically accidental, occurring between individuals who have developed PV-ROTS within the same period, and who have not fully committed to isolation.
7. When we saw patient C, three months after this entry, mutual support with their partner had enabled them both to work from home and undertake errands in public together. Patient C described the protocol they used as ‘Giving each other’s brains something to chew on.’ On a good day, this was as simple as both picturing the same image.
To date, the most successful PV-ROTS management strategy is for the subject to find a human partner/partners whose thoughts they focus on receiving, occupying the ‘telepathic load’ and allowing them to focus on external tasks. For ethical reasons, this must be mutual; as discussed previously, however, disclosure remains the challenge for most.
© Copyright 2023 Tehnuka
About the Author
Tehnuka (she/they) is a writer and volcanologist from Aotearoa New Zealand. She likes to find herself up volcanoes, down caves, and in unexpected places; everyone else, however, can find her online at www.tehnuka.dreamhosters.com or as @tehnuka on Twitter, and some of her recent/forthcoming stories in Worlds of Possibility, Reckoning, and Apex.