After the first 7/7 anniversary I changed my name from my married name, Full-brook, back to my maiden name, Georgiou, by deed poll. It felt as if I was saying, “This isn’t the person who was in that train; this is me now.”

I have a going-to-work routine, but on the morning of 7/7 I got into the third carriage of the Piccadilly line train instead of the first, where the bomb went off; it probably saved my life. I was listening to my iPod when there was a huge bang followed by darkness, black smoke everywhere and terrible screaming. I thought of my mum, my kids and how I had life insurance so they’d be okay. My daughter Helen would move in with my mum. I kept thinking of the things I hadn’t done – I’d done a tandem parachute jump but hadn’t done it solo.

After what seemed ages, we were rescued by guys in orange jackets. Now I wish I had not looked back at the first carriage, which was all mangled bodies. At the top of the escalator I reached into my bag for my ticket. The guy said: “You don’t need it, love.”

Sirens were going everywhere; today sirens still make the hair stand up on the back of my neck. In the station I sat on the floor, had a cigarette, called work and told them I’d be late. All I wanted to do was go home. So I walked. I’m not sure why but I rang the front door and my daughter opened it: “Oh, mum!” she cried. I was covered from head to toe with thick black dust. No wonder people had been staring at me as I walked through the streets.

That weekend I was meant to be going away with this guy I was seeing, but I couldn’t do it. I needed to stay at home. The following week it took a lot to get me back onto a Tube train. I wasn’t going to let the bombers ruin my life, but when I got on I dropped down to the floor in fear, hugging my knees.

A month later I broke up with this guy; he told me I’d changed since 7/7. Of course I’d changed! I couldn’t sleep without the light on and the radio playing. Even then I didn’t sleep much. I wasn’t eating properly; I was drinking too much and smoking God knows how many cigarettes a day. I was also very angry. I wanted to ask the guy who’d blown up my train: “Why innocent people like us? Why me?” I still want to ask him “Why?”

Last year, just before the 7/7 anniversary, I booked myself on a flight to Naples. This year I have to be there. I have a new partner who accepts me as me, the me that went through 7/7.

And I value my life more; I think this is my life and it’s very important to me. Now I don’t let them pile work on me, like I used to. But the fear is still there; I still wake up in the night and panic. I panic if a train gets stuck in a tunnel. Now I leave home for work in the morning and I don’t know if I’ll be back at night. But I value my life more than I have ever valued it.

I’ve just resigned from my job. My work’s been stressing me out so – sod it! Maybe I’ll get another job; maybe I won’t. I’ll manage.

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