Seven stories 7/7: three years on

Elaine Young, 49: caught up in the Edgware Road bombing

"Until February this year I coped fine. It was very much: 'I was in it, I got out, I'm OK.' I'm in the pull-your-socks-up brigade, so I felt it was lesser people who got stressed and didn't want to admit how I was feeling. That's not been a good thing.

One day in February I just collapsed. I had worked myself to death, doing 80 hours a week just to shut it out [Elaine suffered minor physical injuries but was left deeply traumatised by the sight of so many people dying around her]. The day it happened I was at work and there was a big bang outside my window – probably just a crane dropping a skip – but it triggered something. I jumped up and ran to the loo, staying in the cubicle for ages and ages. I'm a master of pretending everything's fine, but when I got back from work that night I thought, 'I'm not getting the train again'. I haven't been back to work since.

I get an awful lot of flashbacks and nightmares, and I often get several panic attacks a day. I've been trying to get counselling for my post-traumatic stress disorder but there's nothing there for people like me. There was a fund for victims of the bombs, but when I tried to get it in February the money had run out.

I went to the GP, who referred me to the local hospital, which then referred me elsewhere. Now I've got an appointment to see if I'm eligible for counselling and then I'll be on another waiting list. It's been months of waiting. I'm not hopeful. All I want is to be able to get back to doing things the way I did before."

John Falding, 64: girlfriend died on No 30 bus

"I realised right at the start that my life would never be the same. I came rapidly to the acceptance stage, where you accept that everything has changed and your life will always be empty.

It's amazing that it's been three years, because I don't feel the passing of time at all. It's as vivid as if it were yesterday, and so the years don't seem relevant.

When the bomb went off, I was on the phone talking to Anat [Rosenberg], and then I heard this terrible, unearthly screaming, but no sound from her. Then the line went dead and I knew something terrible had happened. There was comfort in that I believe she didn't suffer at all.

She'd been afraid to go back to Israel during the second intifada because she had this fear of being a victim of a suicide bus bomb in Israel. The terrible irony is that she was a victim of the only suicide bus bomber we've ever seen in this country, which I've found really difficult to come to terms with. There was a plan to go out to Israel together in August, where I would have met her parents. I did eventually make that trip but it was on my own, to visit her grave.

I'll be 65 next week, but Anat died the day before my birthday, so birthdays are a thing of the past. It's a bit like when you're diagnosed with a horrific illness; life is never the same but it doesn't kill you, you just learn to adapt to it."

Raj Babbra, 31: lost his ex-girlfriend in Aldgate blast

"People don't understand what it means to have someone ripped out of your life. The day that Benedetta [Ciaccia] died changed everything; it brought out the worst and the best in me. There were the saddest emotions, the repressed feelings, the regret and the guilt, but also this creative side that drove me to make this film, '7/7: Life Without Benedetta', despite being a civil servant with no film experience.

We were together for five years, but we'd split up three years earlier. We'd become best friends and we spoke almost every day on the internet. I started getting feelings for her again, but I didn't tell her and I've really regretted that. I was just wishing that we'd had one more chance to get back together. After she died I wrote her an email, even though I knew she'd never get it, just saying I wanted to get back together. It was all too much to take, and that was my way of dealing with it.

I now see that the reasons I broke up with her were quite ridiculous. We met when I was 20 and I felt tied down; I wanted to see what life was like outside this strong relationship.

I lost myself for a long time because I feel guilty about the things left unsaid and how upset she was when we broke up. That day has become the focal point where everything changed in my life. In my mind, I now measure everything that's happened before or since against it."

Bashir Ahmed, 68: uncle of suicide bomber

"We are grieving behind closed doors, and that goes on for the rest of your life. Shahzad [Shahzad Tanweer, who murdered seven people when he detonated a bomb at Aldgate station; the family say they never knew he was involved in any terrorist activities] was a very loving child and a perfect English gentleman, just 22; we still can't believe that he was behind it.

His parents are finding it very difficult and they are going downhill. They are still grieving, that's not going to go away. It's not easy to accept when you know none of the circumstances, because we were all in the dark. They are trying to get on, but it's very hard and it's getting more difficult day by day. I think their hearts are deteriorating. The local community have been very helpful and were very supportive of the situation, but the grief is there for life.

Something like [that] happening in Britain is unbelievable. You'd never imagine things like this would have happened before Tony Blair joined in with his US-style foreign policy. I feel that American foreign policy is like the mafia at the moment, as far as the Muslim world is concerned; they're so aggressive.

Even now you see it with Gordon Brown: his popularity is going down every day because his hands are tied and he's being forced to follow US foreign policy. I love the people, I love the country – I've been here all my life and I'm an old man now. The people are marvellous and caring and tolerant; it's the politicians I don't like."

Susan Harrison, 32: lost a leg at King's Cross

"There are people in this world who are far worse off than I've been. I'm just grateful that I got out of there alive, and feel I need to live my life to the full. My partner and I had thought about going on a ski trip before July 7, and with Disability Snowsport we found a way to go. I do three-tracking, which is when you ski on one leg with one ski without your prosthetic leg and then use outriggers, which are like mini skis on crutches. It was a wonderful feeling going on the slopes. I was alive and it was brilliant; I now volunteer as an ambassador for Disability Snowsport UK.

There are people out there fighting for their lives, and I'm not like that now. After the bomb went off my immediate reaction was to get up and help people, but I was trapped and it was only then that I saw my leg. I realised straight away it would have to be amputated because I'd seen the injury before, working in operating theatres at Great Ormond Street hospital.

I was in intensive care for two weeks and it's hard to describe how I felt. I always had complete faith that I'd be back on my feet and would walk again, but there's no question that it was upsetting.

I've never been on the Tube since, and I never intend to. My husband and I moved to Brighton 18 months ago, and I just drive everywhere now in an automatic car. I love London, but it never held the same for me after that."

John Tulloch, 66: survived Edgware Rd

"Because I'm a media academic, the whole issue of the coverage of terrorism and the use of my image [the photograph of his burnt face hit front pages around the world] became both subjectively important and intellectually important. My book ['One Day in July'] could only have come from that experience, so in that sense I do think of 7/7 as a good thing for me. It's given me this new interest in photojournalism.

You'd have to be crazy to be glad you were there that day, but given the bad luck of being there on that particular day, I'm struck all the time by the sense of good luck that came after.

But there are still things making it difficult for me. I still get vertigo, so I can't look up without feeling nauseous. When I first got blown up it used to happen all the time, but now it's more controllable. Because of the post-traumatic stress disorder, if anything comes close to my face at head level my body reacts badly. Every time one of those free newspaper guys thrusts a paper in my face it sets me off – you feel out of control.

I also get this build up of pressure behind my ears when I speak for long stretches. That has made my career as an academic difficult, as I haven't been able to lecture. On the anniversary of 7/7 I'm speaking at a conference at Brunel University on the use of images in the media, and it will be the first time that I'll speak for a concerted period in public."

George Roskilly, 65: survived King's Cross

"I feel guilty to have survived. The average age of those killed in my carriage was about 26. I was 62, and I thought 'what the bloody hell am I doing still walking around?' You carry that around with you, but you block it out.

My family haven't gone on the Underground since, but I had to. I'm a property inspector and I work all over central London. I went back on the Tube five days afterwards, and 'nightmare' doesn't describe it. I had heart palpitations and it was really frightening.

In the early days, if I could, I would get off the train if I saw someone Asian.

My first flashback was about six months after. I was sitting at my daughter's house after lunch and my grandsons were fighting. One of them started to cry and it triggered an immediate flashback, because there was so much crying in the carriage. I just broke down, it was awful.

I then went to my doctor and had counselling for six months for post-traumatic stress. I think a lot of people don't see it as a very macho thing to get counselling, but it's the best thing that's happened to me."