It is, as a Life Artist, a big sorrow to realize what you are.
But not to realize it is the greatest sorrow.
And then death becomes terrible, as Tolstoy has depicted it in Ivan Iljitsch´ Death.
Ivan Ilyich is lying in the deathbed and can´t let go of life because of mortal dread.
He screams three days and nights through.
Not until he realizes, that the life he'd lived, hadn´t been an actual life, yes, that he in fact never has lived at all, not until then he can let go of life, and reconcile himself with death.