Mind? Sanity? Sense of self? Understanding of this plot?
All of the above?
I'm currently trying to channel a bulldozer, plowing through the wreckage, hoping its smoother on the other side once I've crossed. A sidebar on that: bulldozers are not particularly attractive, and neither are writers who are mid-third act and forgetting how to connect the threads of the plot that are still hanging. There is ink on my glasses from an exploded pen. Need I say more?