OMG it's 3.22 am and here I am but at least I'm not hogging the phone line when my landlady wants to use it. I've been on a mini tour of the UK and things have been going great and I've been having lots of fun (shock). Also (or maybe because of), I've been surprisingly calm about Oz and planning my trip but maybe that's because I haven't actually done any. At all. Hence my waking up stressing in the middle of the night.

I decided from speaking to everyone I know who has any links with Australia that I should stay longer than 2 months and seeing as I'm under 30, I thought hurrah I can get a working holiday visa. My friend applied for one the day before she went to Oz and having this in mind, I thought it would be easy.

Err yes much to your probable incomprehension, I completely forgot about the little matter that is cf... So when I saw all info about health and the dreaded need for a chest x-ray my panic levels became somewhat raised (this was last night, by the way). Now I come to think of it, about ten years ago, I read an article about someone with cf going to Australia and having to delay their entry date because they couldn't get a visa. Or was it insurance? Or maybe both. Um must definitely sort out my insurance tomorrow.

LUUCCCCYYY, when will you ever learn?

Anyway, after a quick panic email to my cf friend who spent 10 months in Australia and luckily emailed me back pretty promptly despite being in America, I realised that applying for the working holiday visa would be like throwing £70 down the drain. He had got his visa no problem but he had to go for a private x-ray and send in lots of letters from his docs which obviously took much longer than two weeks. Nothing unusual then and totally predictable but again, I forgot to engage my brain.

After I received his email, about half an hour ago, I panicked further when health seemed to be mentioned on every single visa and I saw myself not being able to get any visa and looking like Mrs Muppet of Muppetland after telling everyone I was going to the other side of the world.

But the internet saved the day again. I now have a three month holiday visa which means I can't work (but, to be honest, I was a bit stressed about how I was going to work and meet people and see Oz all at the same time) but I can do a bit of work (more my kind) including conservation-type things in return for board and keep.

Also, the visa is valid for a year so I'll just have to pop across to New Zealand after three months and stay there for a bit before going back to Oz. Now I've got used to this idea of going away, it seems madness to come back to the horrible British winter which is a breading ground for depression with a job and somewhere to live. Never mind without them.

More weirdness. I was cycling into town yesterday and I realised that I hadn't been upset all week. And not only had I not been upset but I haven't even thought about crying.

In fact, I've had a really good week. It's definitely been helped by the sun but then I've also been in the right frame of mind to enjoy it. There's nothing worse (although there probably is but it's definitely one of the worst things) than if you're depressed and it's a gorgeous sunny day but you can't appreciate it. Not only can't you appreciate it but it makes you feel worse because you start to hate the sun and wish it would go away because you know it should be making you feel better and it's not.

I went to the hospital this week and although they didn't seem to have any record of my appointment, it was the best appointment I've had in ages. The doctor was brilliant and really enthusiastic about me going to Australia and totally convinced I was doing the right thing. I had an x-ray of my stomach and we now have a stomach plan which mostly consists of me drinking lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of water. My stomach was bad before I went to Italy but Idefinitely didn't drink enough to counteract the dehydration caused by flying. And when I got there, while I tried to drink a lot, I didn't drink nearly as much as I should have done. The doctor said I should drink at least an extra two pints a day in Australia, if it's hot. Eek. And just said for me to take as much meds as I need which is cool because I love self medicating.

I also went to see my GP and thanked her for putting me in touch with the FLASH clinic which was how I got to see my therapist. She was brilliant as well and gave me lots of extra antibiotics in case I get a chest infection while I'm out there, so now my rucksack is going to be even more chock-a-block. She was so lovely and said she'd travelled by train across Australia and it was amazing.

In fact, everyone in Leeds has been so lovely and it's making me feel really good. When I left London and other places/houses in the past I've left hating them and just wanted to get away. Now in Leeds, I'm feeling like I have got friends here and I'm not running away and could even come back. Hurrah!

Even the people from the groups I'm involved in like Leeds Stop Climate Chaos have been really positive about me going to Australia. I was really embarrassed at first and thought they'd think I was a hypocrite but they didn't give me a hard time at all. I just said I wanted to get away and see my friend, that my contract has ended and I'd split up with my boyfriend and so it was a perfect opportunity. They understood. I didn't tell them that my sanity depends on it. They don't know that side of me.

I don't want to be one of those travellers who spends all their time in Internet cafes but then I do want people at home to know what's happening and it's a good way of recording what I've been doing. This means that I'll have to tell people my blog address who don't know the craziness of me. I hope they won't delve into the archives and be put off.

Something weird has been happening. These past few days, I've been pottering around, finishing off some Oxfam stuff and cycling around. Doesn't sound too weird. But the weird thing is, I've felt happy.

It started in Italy. On the first day, I got a bit upset because of things that had happened in the past but I managed to stop myself before my thoughts got out of control. I said: "No, it doesn't matter, all that matters is that I'm in this beautiful sunny place with friendly people and good food and drink and what could I have to complain about?" So I hauled myself up into the present, a place which is alien to me, and began to make the most of it.

This present thing really is a very weird concept for me but not only have I realised that it's somewhere where I should spend more time but I've also started to move there, all thanks to writing my blog.

My auntie commented on my blog a while ago that I should try and live more in the present and my grandpa after seeing it, sent me the The Beautiful Life by Simon Parke. There are so many great quotes in the book but this one is particularly relevant.

There is no greater gift to yourself than being in the present. In one sense, it is the only gift that matters. For only in the present are we conscious, awake to the moment, which is why yesterday's an illness and tomorrow's a disease...The pig knows these things...So we let the pig instruct us in the profound things of life. There is the sun, the potato peel the mud and the farmer scratching its back. Does there need to be anything else?

Of course, I'm scared I'm going to start feeling rubbish again. When you've spent so much time feeling bad, it's strange to feel anything else. But I think with Richard (my therapist) and going to Australia that things are changing. I really hope so because I've been sorting out old papers and magazines in my room and I've written the same unhappy thoughts and feelings for years. Too many years. I've been stuck.

But now I think for the first time, I can let some of it go. It happened, so what. All I'm doing by thinking about it and going over and over it, is picking at the scab and making it bleed. Trickles of blood, trickles of anger and pain and anguish and upsetness and depression and hurt and guilt and regret.

That's not to say it's easy or that negative thoughts don't pop into my mind. I particularly feel bad about Henry. That we could've been so different if I hadn't been so depressed. But I don't hate myself for being depressed anymore and that's a big step forward. I think I have had a hard time and I'm getting better at not comparing myself with other people.

Friday was a good last day until that is, I drunk too much and started feeling rubbish. Because I’d been coping so well with drinking in Italy, I stupidly thought I’d be OK but I’d hardly eaten anything on Friday (except that is, the yummiest chocolate and cream cake you’ve ever had in your whole life) and so I drunk quite a bit (forgetting my light-weightness) and got a bit upset. Although no one knew I was upset so that was a very good thing and as my sister wisely pointed out it could have been so much worse (so, so much worse as past experience shows) and then I felt asleep at the party for two hours until it was time to go home!

I was really cross with myself because I know I can react badly to alcohol and I'm hardly going to see my colleagues again and they’ve been my best friends over the last six months and I should have been spending time with them, not sleeping. They've coped with my mental-ness and crying-ness and splitting-up-with-Henry-ness and encouraged me to go to Australia and all I could do, as usual, is think of myself, get upset and go to sleep.

It would be pretty easy for me to get down at the moment (well not for normal people who’d be thinking what the hell am I complaining about as I’m going to Oz in a month) so I’m just trying to concentrate on the huge progress I’ve made in the last year. Just think about where I was one year ago or nine months ago? Did Oxfam save my life? Or was it Vanessa or Rob or my colleagues or my family or my lovely blog readers or my therapist? Or all of them?

Which actually makes me feel pretty humble that so many people should want to help me and what have I done to deserve all that time and support?

Also, it suddenly occurs to me that I’ve used up a lot of lives. How many lives? It feels like a lot of people have saved me: My geography teacher when I nearly didn't take my A Level History because I had a panic attack; Alice (my art therapist); my mum; my sister; Henry and that's just for starters. But it's also, I think, a pretty good way of depicting my life; lurching from one crisis to the next. That's what I feel it's like being me.

My big thing with my therapist is my underlying/underpinning everything belief I have that if I’m not amazing then I’m a failure. Right now I feel pretty amazing but right on cue my chest has gone all spiky and I cough up blood and I'm starting to get depressed again about my evil, evil scaring acne. (At 29 do you think that maybe spots might, just might have got bored with me? Could I have a break please, just for a bit?)

So it boils down to this: things have been pretty OK for a while and overall there's been good times and happy times and maybe expecting anymore than that is just too much? For me anyway. Maybe I should evaporate or disappear? Right now, if I could transform myself into something else, I would.

What a difference a few weeks makes.

I went to Vanessa's on Tuesday. I hadn't seen her for three weeks as she's been in Japan and I told her I'd just come back from Italy (that's where I've been in case anyone was wondering). Last time I saw her, I said I definitely wasn't going because I couldn't cope. *Insert here any number of Lucy-type insecurities related to weddings, friends and lots of people. I'm sure that by reading this blog you could pick a few.*

Then I said how even after I'd booked my tickets, I wasn't looking forward to it because I was so apprehensive about what I'd do after my job ends (tomorrow, by the way) until that was, I booked my tickets to Australia. And quite surprised but very pleased she said: "You're going to Australia?" And I couldn't believe she didn't know. (Does anyone else like starting sentences with And as much as me? Oh yes, my old boss, maybe that's where I get it from.)

Anyway, Italy was amazing. Even though my stomach seriously misbehaved and dispersible aspirins became my new best friend (and my new favourite painkiller), I couldn't believe how much better I felt and how much better I now feel.

So different. Good different.