Last night, a so-called ‘friend’ on Facebook accused me of sympathising with the Manchester suicide bomber and the three men responsible for the despicable attacks in London on Saturday.

All because, like all sane people, I can easily tell the difference between radicalised murderers and innocent muslims.

I tried to defend myself, but he resorted to more personal abuse – including jabs at my career – and posted some utterly disgusting comments about muslims that I still can’t quite believe I had to read. I can’t bring myself to write them here.

I have to admit that I lost my temper, and responded by using some very bad language indeed. I’m truly sorry to everyone who had to read my comments. It’s really not like me at all. I’m a writer; I love words and understand their power. As such, I rarely resort to profanities. But his comments hit me harder than I thought possible. I’ve barely slept all night, my mind racing, and I’ve been up since just after 3.30am.

I’m ashamed to admit this (but I will, you know me), last night I was reduced to tears.

More than once.

I’m very depressed at the moment. On medication and receiving counselling. I feel like I’m at the bottom of a well and unable to climb out. It’s as if, in addition to my cancer, the chemo and radiotherapy targeted my spirit as well.

This is going to sound like a whine, but I have very little quality of life right now. Aside from a few mouthfuls of soup or mashed potato, I haven’t eaten in over a year. I still can’t speak properly. I’m constantly exhausted, and so weak I struggle to go upstairs in my own home.

On several occasions, I haven’t seen the point of going on.

But, you know what? I WILL go on!

I’m going to fight this as hard as I fought my cancer. I won’t give in to my depression.

That’s just what it wants.

If my Mum was here, she would tell me to “get my bounce back”.

I will, Mum! I promise. x

I have a beautiful, loving wife, two wonderful sons, and an amazing extended family in my incredible brother and sister, their families and all my cousins, aunts and uncles.

I also have a LOT of supportive friends, and even supportive strangers. So many people have contacted me to enquire if I’m OK after last night’s nonsense.

I am OK. I’m BETTER than OK.

I WILL NOT let some low-life racist moron push me down so far that I can’t get back up again.

I REFUSE to let him affect me in that way.

Last night was simply the last resort. The straw that broke the camel’s back. Everything from the past year and a half came flooding back, and I lost it.

It was bound to happen, sooner or later.

But, it’s only served to make me more determined than ever to beat my illnesses – both physical and mental.

Tommy Donbavand giving up? You’re having a laugh!

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  1. Bless you! I stand with you.


  2. Tommy, it’s been so long since I’ve seen anything from you, and I’m so sorry that you’ve had this treatment to write about on your return.

    Sod the racists and xenophobes.

    Keep standing for what is right, and remember your actual friends love you.


  3. We’ve all been in a situation where some ignorant cretin pushes our buttons and we have a bit of a rant back. No need to apologise for being human and caring enough to speak up! Especially when you’re feeling so rough…

    You have had and continue to have a ruddy rotten, unfair, relentless fight against this horrendous illness. I will never forget what you’d posted about your oncologist saying if there were ANY other treatment options available to you, he’d urge you to take them rather than face what you endured (are enduring still)… truly humbling and affected me very deeply when remembering how very precious and easily taken for granted our normal, everyday health and activities are. Even the mundane ones.

    So, so glad you have your wonderful, supportive family around you, especially when you’re (understandably ) feeling so low. Keep looking at the stars, Tommy.

    Oh – and here’s a joke from Rosie, my 9 year old, who’s obsessed with your Scream Street books, which she hopes makes you smile;

    Why are pirates called ‘pirates’?
    Because they arrrrrr!!

    (Apologies!!) 🙂


  4. Good to see you being strong. Situations like that are horrible but they can’t break your spirit. Your support team will give you the virtual hugs I’m sending.
    What do you call a snowman in June? A puddle.
    That’s terrible. Take care.


  5. Well there’s one good thing about that racist moron (nothing wrong with cussing out a racist moron, BTW, IMO) — he led to your to posting here! We’ve been worried about you, Tommy!

    I’m so sorry to hear about the depression. I have a feeling it’s a totally normal reaction to the kind of experience you’ve had and the situation you find yourself in. I hope it lifts soon, and that you regain the ability to speak and eat. I’m glad to hear that you can do stairs and swallow food at all — that sounds like something of an improvement, compared to the last time you posted. May the progress continue! We’ll be thinking of you.


  6. Hello there, you won’t have a blind clue who I am, Barry sent me, well, he recommended your book and I bought it but I couldn’t wait for it to come out to read it so I’ve been reading your blog.

    As the original shouty woman I sympathise with your experience on Facebook. I have experienced the racing mind and sleepless thing after a couple of rows I’ve had, myself. There are so many knobs in the world and when they start spewing hatespeak well … red rag to a bull. So you are well in the right and stick to your guns. And let’s face it, if the dam(n) has to break, I’m sure it’s better on Facebook than anywhere else.

    As for the rest, it seems to me that when we go through the plop it’s often afterwards that we drop a bit – or a lot – almost like you have made it through so far and you have a blip because it’s safe to do so. I’m probably not making sense but the few hard times I’ve had, no matter how confused and at sea I’ve felt while they were happening, I’ve got through the worst somehow and it’s been afterwards when I look back and realise I’ve made it that I’ve sagged.

    Also here’s another thing.

    There’s a little boy in this house who LOVES the Bash Street Kids. Hell I love the Bash Street Kids. So even if you can’t speak, you can still communicate – extremely effectively I might add – and we still love the stuff you write.

    Bless you, hang in, this too shall pass.

    All the best,



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