Good luck tomorrow honey! You’ll be fine and brilliant and everything will go fine. I know this because I am super-smart and all-knowing :P
But I will also say (because no one said this to me and it would have really helped me) that even if you fail, even if something worthy of a sitcom happens (I don’t know, like you trip, fall, pull down one professor’s trousers as you go and accidentally land face-first in another’s crotch) that you will still be awesome, brilliant and lovely, and I will love you just as much. So go in like you have nothing to lose. Give them hell, my dearest <3
I have to say, all those years since ‘96 where perhaps I thought, as I did at one time, that the Eighth Doctor, by dint of the failed TV pilot… that the Eighth Doctor, though liked in some quarters, perhaps wasn’t so liked in others, and was only tolerated in the scheme of things…
There’s no doubt now, in my mind, that the Eighth Doctor is part of it, that he’s right there in the heart of it. He has earned his place, and that’s really gratifying.❞
I’ve heard the news. Congratulations.
I hope you’ll be happy with him. I hope he won’t do to you all the things he did to me. I hope he won’t ever beat the shit out of you if you talk to another boy. I hope he’ll never yell in your face that you’re a slut and deserve nothing. I hope he’ll never slap you when you try to react. I hope he’ll never spit in your hair. I hope he’ll never push you to a wall and tell you to be quiet. I hope he’ll never force you to have sex with him even when you don’t want to. I hope he’ll never whisper horrible words in your ear while he pushes inside you, making you cry, out of many different kinds of pain. I hope he’ll never make you bleed for days. I hope you won’t have to hide bruises from your family. I hope he won’t isolate you from your friends. I hope he won’t try to control every move you make. I hope he won’t impose on you an unbearable level of public humiliation. I hope he won’t manage to convince you that you’re in love with him despite everything, and that he’s just damaged but good, and that you can fix him with your love. I hope you won’t confuse abuse with love for years. I hope he won’t cheat on you, not even once. I hope he’ll say that he loves you, and I hope it’ll be true. I hope he won’t break up with you and keep playing with your feelings for months. I hope you won’t realise in ten years that what he did to you was incredibly fucked up, and a crime. I hope you won’t repress and remove your memories of him to deal with your life, and I hope those memories won’t come back in a rush ten years later leaving you raw and broken, both desperate for closure and scared of meeting him by chance around town. I hope he won’t give you a ten years delayed PTSD and depression. I hope you’ll be happy together. I hope you’ll live a fulfilling and joyous life together.
And I don’t hope all that because I want him to be happy, because believe me, I don’t. But I wouldn’t wish what he did to me not even on my worst enemy. I hope yours will be the perfect marriage. I hope he’ll be good to you just as much as he wasn’t to me.