Some of us are more prone to catastrophic thinking (not just imagining negative outcomes, but assuming that said outcomes will be disastrous) than others, but it’s probably something we all do to some degree when things feel uncertain. This irrational, exaggerated way of thinking is sometimes referred to as cognitive distortion, and is fertile ground for anxiety and unpleasant emotions.

Whatever I have done that has led to me posing this question (to a search engine, another person or myself), I am craving some kind of portal into an unlived future. That’s not possible. What happens next is an eternal, torturous unknown. In a perverse way, it may be easier psychologically to hold on to the faint assumption that I have completely messed things up for myself. This is because when our thoughts and beliefs are in chaos, settling on a neat narrative is easier on the mind. There can be a delicious sense of freedom in saying “Sod it, everything’s ruined,” even if, somewhere, we rationally know it probably isn’t.

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All of this is very abstract, of course. “Ruin” implies irrevocable damage of some kind, but is a wildly subjective concept. What constitutes damage will differ from person to person, based on our value systems and the different sense of worth we attach to things – the product of our life experiences, memories and all the meanings we embody along the way.

The prison system is interesting to think about in this context. There are undoubtedly swaths of people within it who are incredibly regretful of the crimes they’ve committed; those who, in cases of murder or grievous harm that have brought life or extended sentences, may really believe they have ruined their own lives in the process. In the face of knowing that the perimeter of your world is going to be four concrete walls until you die, or that even upon release you will be indelibly marked with your crime, you can see where they’d be coming from.

However, there are also people for whom life – or a significant stretch of time – spent in prison does not equate with “ruin”. Perhaps their early experiences were so chaotic or damaging that their value system doesn’t include what others do. In the case of violent gang crimes, often involving teenagers and young adults, tit-for-tat moral mathematics seems to be the driving force. In the aftermath of a crime, do the perpetrators have a sense of what it means for the rest of their life? When does regret set in? No one is born violent, so we have to ask what has happened, or is happening, for those involved to seemingly place so little value on the future – both that of others, and their own.

Our general mental state and level of emotional resilience will determine how quickly we descend into catastrophic thinking. If we are prone to mental health issues such as anxiety or depression, to grit our teeth and push on can be difficult when things go wrong. Still, no one has a strong psychic constitution all the time, and there are universal problems that can shake anyone’s sense of who they are and what the rest of their life will look like.

Debt, for example – something that affects so many of us – may feel, in the moment, like it’s going to define and restrict us forever. If I am contemplating bankruptcy or a debt-relief order, it’s likely to make a big dent in my self-esteem and motivation. I might feel like I’ve completely let myself or my family down. These are not decisions to be made light of, of course, because they do have considerable impact, but the restrictions they place on us do not last forever. They can, and do, provide relief and a fresh start for many. Life may be different for a while but it can, and will, go on.

Living with a propensity for low mood and anxious thoughts or behaviour can do funny things to our sense of who we are and what we’re capable of. Anyone who knows their inner critical voice too well will know how it feels to believe that who you are, your essence, is the thing preventing you from having a good life. As someone who lived with anxiety for well over a decade without seeking help or really telling anyone, I can tell you that, in times of great frustration with myself and how my anxiety manifested, I’d look in the mirror and think: you’ve completely fucked it. I’d absolutely believe things would never be different. Thankfully, since I sought help, and can now manage things a lot better, such moments happen far less. When they do, I try and accept the thoughts rather than battle them, remembering what my therapist has taught me about catastrophic thinking being part of my anxious brain’s way of trying to keep me safe. I remind myself that no mental state is fixed.

Since writing a book on anxiety, when people experiencing a similar kind of distress get in touch with me I tell them to write out that line – no mental state is fixed – on a Post-it note and stick it to their computer or by their bathroom sink. Because it’s true: our brains change – all the time. Neuroplasticity refers to the brain’s ability to adapt as a result of experience. In the catatonia of depression, it can be hard to see a way out of the woods, but the gap is always there. The light will come in. Opening ourselves up and seeking guidance from people who know this and can help us start to know it, too – be that a GP, a psychologist, psychiatrist or therapist – is part of how we can keep forwards momentum.

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Yes, we may have made decisions that have had a negative impact, but with self-awareness and a willingness to address our patterns of behaviour, we can allow ourselves to adapt. We are all a constant work in progress.

Generally, we probably have to be in some distress to ask if we have ruined our life. But it may also be something of a coping mechanism in times of immense change, when we’re fearing the unknown.

A significant relationship I was in ended a couple of years ago, catalysed by foolish behaviour on my part. One morning I was sitting in a hotel lobby with a suitcase not knowing where I was sleeping that night, really, truly convinced I’d ruined everything for myself. I fainted, falling forwards on to a coffee table, and came to with two softly spoken concierge men dripping water on to my face. One of them held my forehead and said, “It’s OK, miss. It’s OK. It’s OK.” I cried, looking up at the ceiling. Nothing was OK. But a human voice telling me it was made me feel held for a second, and like it might be.

The fear at the heart of this question is from the rawest part of us. No one can really answer it for us. But it taps into what we all, every one of us, need when we’re on our own: human connection. If we feel connected, we’re much better equipped for dealing with the unknown of tomorrow.

• Eleanor Morgan is author of Anxiety for Beginners: A Personal Investigation, and is currently training to be a psychologist