The Grim Guest: Life and its Inevitable End

Originally published on July 14, 2019. Lightly revised May 2026.

**This piece discusses suicidal ideation. If you're struggling, you're not alone — the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline is available by call or text.**

When I was young and, like many teenagers, full of emotions I didn’t understand, it seemed to me that dying would be the only way to escape all of my hurt and confusion. I often considered how I’d want it to happen, each way by my own doing. Would I down a bunch of pills, stand in front of an oncoming train, jump off a high bridge? All I knew was it had to be quick and painless.

My teenage years seemed so dramatic. I was obsessed with the dead and dying. I hung out at cemeteries and tried connecting with spirits through the Ouija board. My internet history sometimes consisted of extensive research on the quickest, least messy ways to die. I recall a few times where I sat in my room with heavy music blasting through the speakers, a pile of sleeping pills at my side, and the idea of taking them all and drifting away into an eternal slumber.

Would it hurt; would I be free; would I be missed? Life didn’t seem to matter, but a tiny flame inside kept me going.

My relationship with Death is a lot different now. I don’t embrace the idea anymore, I’m really terrified of it approaching me too soon. It’s interesting how differently I see things now compared to my younger years.

A couple months ago, I laid in bed trying to sleep, but my mind was racing and extreme anxiety filled me as I realized, This will all end and one day I won’t exist.

Have you ever just sat there and pondered that fact — like really let it sink in? I felt so sick. I got up and walked around to quit stewing in my thoughts, but when I laid back down, I hugged my sleeping husband and just kept thinking, Some day we’ll be gone and I won’t be able to hug you like this.

I let those thoughts go after a few days, but the topic came back to me recently when I saw my uncle on his last day, before he died of a year-long battle with pancreatic cancer. I wish I got to know him better, but what I do know is he lived an incredibly full and exciting life and had so many amazing family and friends to surround him in his final days. He lived!

While I sat on the couch looking through his scrapbook, I wondered to myself, What is he thinking about? Has he accepted his fate, or is he scared and unwilling? I wanted to ask him, but didn’t because it seemed weird.

When Death paid him a visit that night, did he feel ready to go? I keep wondering, but will never know until it’s my time.

When these kinds of thoughts cross my mind, I fear driving. I actually love driving, but it can be terrifying. I was seventeen when my best friend’s mom died in a car crash, something that still affects me at times. Careless drivers on the road send me into a rage at times because my life feels threatened.

Two months ago, an 18-year-old girl who had just graduated lost her life behind the wheel. A few weeks back, four young girls from my hometown lost their lives in a car accident, and now another just last week. How many more around the world just today?

The idea of me or a loved one dying because of another person’s carelessness or cruelty seems extremely unfair, yet it happens all the time. Someone loses their life, and others lose someone they love.

I don’t believe in an afterlife, so for me it seems like the lights go out and that’s it. Nothing more. It’s understandable why people came up with post-life concepts like Heaven or reincarnation. I suppose the idea that there could be eternal life makes death less frightening. I’m just not convinced yet...

In the past, I welcomed Death to my door in order to forever hide from Life’s unfriendliness. It was a common notion. These days when I get really down on myself, an ideation will quietly slip into my mind, and sometimes I let it stay a while.

At times I feel completely broken and want others to feel that pain, to miss me, to wish they would have paid more attention. But my will to live is stronger, and I push the notion aside.

Despite all the obsession with suicide I had growing up, I don’t think I ever really wanted to die. I was afraid of my feelings because I didn’t know how to handle them yet. I was afraid of failing and not being enough. I was afraid of asking for help and people not showing up for me, proving that I was indeed a burden. I didn’t feel accepted or loved, and never thought I’d deserve to be. I felt worthless.

I would have rather run away from Life than push forward and find out what I was capable of — or be vulnerable and allow others to show up for me when I needed it.

Even when I stumble into the darkest holes of my mind, I can see what’s good and know I’m not done here yet.

The inevitable Grim Guest will pay us all a visit some day, but for now...

Let’s make the most of the time we have. There’s plenty of time for sitting in a dark hole later.

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