Me and My Big Mouth.

Firstly, apologies to my hordes of adoring fans for not posting anything over the Christmas and New Year period. I'm afraid, once again, that putting finger to keyboard seemed to become a burdensome task, fraught with anxieties about what to, or what not to, write.
So, this time, instead of writing about writing, as I've done before when inspiration failed me, I thought I'd talk about... talking; for talking, particularly in terms of mental health, seems a matter of extreme importance.
For instance, I can personally attest to the therapeutic value of opening up and talking about one's feelings, instead of locking them away and allowing them to fester. After many years of failing to communicate my thoughts and feelings successfully, I think I finally began to express my frustrations in a more productive way, simply by saying what was on my mind. I don't think it's any mystery or mistake that the condition of my mind significantly improved as I did this. Indeed, if anything these days, I may have developed a tendency to talk about things too much. I think there's much to be said for the occasional brooding silence. I mean, who would really want to be close to someone who continually felt the need to express their innermost hang-ups? But I suppose that's exactly what I sometimes do in this blog. So, my question is, does there come a time when talking about one's feelings can become unproductive, or "un-therapeutic"? Could me and my big mouth, as it were, lead me into darker, rather than lighter, psychological waters?
If the experience of one of my friends is anything to go by, then perhaps so. After many years of having a mental illness, he was offered a course of talking therapy at the psychology department of our local psychiatric hospital. After a few sessions, it seems that he found many painful experiences and memories being dredged up, which, together with being weaned off his medication, resulted in him having a really quite severe bout of depression. In that instance, then, talking about things certainly didn't help.
However, we all know that being open about having a mental illness is important in the fight to alleviate stigma. Talking about mental health publicly and candidly seems to have greatly aided this cause, and anti-stigma organisations like "Time to Change" have consistently encouraged people to speak about their illnesses, to have conversations about them, and finally dispel some of the myths and taboos which surround mental ill health.       
Also, as anyone who reads this blog will know, I've had a long-term mental illness which has involved periods of psychosis. The treatment of such disorders seems to be influenced by what I believe is termed the "biomedical model", where chemical imbalances in the brain are viewed as the main cause of illness. The approach of most psychiatrists then seems to be to medicate first, and ask questions later. Indeed, in my own treatment, although I was once offered a course of CBT, this has mostly been the case, and it would seem that many psychiatrists would view talking, when in the throes of such experiences, as not particularly helpful. However, in some other countries, various talking therapies and psychological interventions have been tried with, it seems, some success, reducing the need for anti-psychotic medication. So, could it be that talking about one's problems, even when in a psychotic state, might actually be good for you?
All I can say is, is that talking about one's issues might go some way to helping alleviate them, and it's certainly the case that openness about mental health in general aids the anti-stigma cause. I think it's just when talking about things which are perhaps very painful that the opposite can happen. We are all, it seems, taught of the need to remember and be open about painful things. Here I'm thinking particularly in historical terms, where our need to collectively remember the horrors of the past goes some to way to helping us not repeat them, or so it is at least hoped. However, I'm often minded to think of the end of Toni Morrison's novel, "Beloved", which tackled the enormous evil of slavery. The conclusion which appears to be drawn at the end of that book is that, sometimes, "remembering seems unwise", and that maybe some things are just so painful that they are not "stories to pass on". For those with experience of mental ill health, I think this has echoes of truth.