I think there is a black hole in time between elation and depression and that is where one must not remain for long. It is a tiredness that halts the mind and searching for ideas is useless. Happiness writes with humor, melancholia writes with knowing pain and joy both, but as missed or longed for and so relates to past or future, very seldom living in a current state of mind.
But between them is just a blank sheet of white, the black hole of writers, and that is so much harder to face.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology