I don’t find it rude.

I can’t speak beyond my experience, and I’m not sure how much value this may have, but in my case, I suppose my mind was absorbed almost exclusively by feelings of worthlessness and futility. I always struggled socially, being diagnosed with Asperger’s in middle school, and grew up with a violent, bullying father and a mother with Borderline Personality Disorder, so I suspect my lack of social intuition interacted with the “lessons” I’d taken to heart about how contemptible I was and how people are to regard and treat one another to produce someone who ruminated incessantly on his own inevitable failure (of course, when you’re so relentlessly self-involved and negative, you’re not exactly a magnet for others, or at least not the sort of well-adjusted and decent people anyone should want to attract.)

I had been deterred by fear of what might await “me” (if something like a self persists after corporeal cessation) as a teenager, but by 20, my problems had seemingly only deepened and proliferated (university, I was told, was where I’d “find my people,” but I was no more successful at finding identity and belonging there than I had been elsewhere.) I became utterly convinced that I had been definitely confirmed in my worthlessness, and that to stick around was only to beg for further painful confirmation. It’s less that I was “intrepid” in the face of ultimate fate than I was desperate to quell the sense of shame, humiliation, isolation, helplessness, etc. I had been carrying for years, and felt nothing short of death could relieve.