It seems to me that part of the danger of going mad lies in no longer being able to communicate to others the nature of one's existence as a suffering being.
One becomes an island where the language ceases to circulate. Where the light of exchanged traffic dies. One becomes tormented by the presence of one's own unreceived thoughts.
It is curious that many of our most essential struggles take place on this language platform that is not directly responsible for subsistence. Though this could be a mistake. It could be that our nature as complex social animals is essential to our survival.
This would make our language centers essential organs. As the heart pumps through blood, so our brains pump through this information that flows through and connects and sustains us.
