I’ve just discovered that I’m going to die. Now, for the sake of transparency, I should point out that I’m not going to die right away, but that’s not really the point. I’m going to die, and I’m probably going to die before you, and I’m slightly narked off about it. Apparently a colossal heart attack is going to wipe me out of existence at a tragically young age, and it’s all because I get a bit “glass half empty” about stuff sometimes.

There is science to back this up. An 11-year study by the University of Illinois has discovered that pessimists are half as likely to be in ideal cardiovascular shape as their more optimistic counterparts. Optimists are more active, they say, and have better body mass indexes. They’re fitter and happier and they’ll outlive the rest of us. I’d moan about how unbearably smug this must make all those stupid optimists, but my time here is limited and it’d probably only slash a couple more months off my life.

By rights, this should be the other way around. If anyone deserves to die young, it’s optimists. That’s just simple Darwinism in action. Optimists go outside and get a suntan, but pessimists stay indoors and avoid getting cancer. Optimists go skydiving to experience a life-affirming surge of adrenaline, but pessimists steer clear because they know they’ll plummet headfirst into a flock of geese, and then their canopy won’t open, and then their plane will crash-land and explode right on top of their shattered almost-corpse. Optimists see a supermarket prawn sandwich and think it looks delicious. Pessimists look at the same sandwich and only see the week-long agonising bout of boiling diahorrea it’s bound to give them.

I’ve intermittently dabbled with optimism in the past, and it’s never ended well. “Hey,” I thought in 2002, “there are so many of us on this march that the politicians will have to stop the war.”

And “Hey,” I thought in 2010, “the Liberal Democrats will be a winningly moderating force in the coalition government.” And in 2015: “Hey, maybe the new Cadbury’s Creme Eggs won’t basically taste like awful pellets of chalky vomit.” Bitter disappointment every time. If you’re a natural optimist, it’s a genuine miracle that you haven’t already died of heartbreak.

But no, we pessimists have been dealt the shitty end of the stick, which is typical. And, if I’m honest, I’m a little spooked by it. I can’t afford to die early, because I’ve got so much left to do. I’ve got places left to visit. I’ve got a family left to raise. I’ve got episodes of reality shows left to watch. The world is full of things to be unimpressed by, and I’ve only tasted a slice of them.

So my choice is clear. If I really want a long and fulfilling life, I’m going to have to start looking on the bright side. After all, my health depends on it.

There is the teensiest, tiniest flaw to this plan, however. And that’s that everything in the world right now is objectively terrible. France? Terrible. London buses? Terrible. The prospect of four solid months of wall-to-wall election campaigning? Terrible. The new Cadbury’s Creme Eggs? I realise that I’ve mentioned this already, but they’re worse than terrible. They’re like week-old dogturds filled with liquid diabetes. Cadbury’s would have done less harm by releasing a video of the Easter Bunny getting stomped to death by a meth-addicted biker gang.

But I won’t let this barrage of awfulness deter me. If I’m going to take cheer from the world, I just need to look a little harder. For instance, a couple of brilliant-sounding teenagers from Wales just won a trip to Bangladesh to help campaign for universal education. Their passion and enthusiasm for the cause more than makes up for the fact that they’re only going because the UN’s original goal of providing basic primary education for all the children in the world has fallen short by 57 million. Actually, now I come to think of it, that doesn’t make up for it at all. That’s a vast number of children we’re still letting down. It’s dreadful news, really. Terrible.

No, wait: that’s the old, doomed pessimistic me talking again. I’ll try something else. South Dakota’s ban on gay marriage has been overturned. That’s a step forward, isn’t it? Well, no. It’s a tiny nudge forward after a huge leap backwards. People are still trying to ban gay marriage in 2015? What kind of horrible, twisted, messed-up world is this?

Fine, I’ll try to be pleased about something else. There’s a new series of Broadchurch. But, hang on, it isn’t as good as the last one. Oh, this is hopeless. Wait, I’ve got it. Did you see that photo of Christoph Waltz eating a cheeseburger at the Golden Globes this week? That was quite good, wasn’t it? I can’t think of a single reason to be miserable about that. There! In your face, premature cardiovascular-related death! I did it! I’m an optimist! I’m going to live for ever ... you know, so long as the cattle in the cheeseburger was reared humanely and everyone involved in its production was paid a decent living wage, which I doubt. Oh, for God’s sake, what’s the point of pretending? Pessimism is in my bones. I should just accept that. Je suis churlish.