Johnny Depp/Amber Heard, Part Two: My Thoughts CW: mental illness, borderline personality disorder, histrionic personality disorder

 

Beauty queen of only eighteen, she had some trouble with herself
He was always there to help her, she always belonged to someone else

For starters, I am "Team Johnny" but I am not anti Team Amber Heard, as if the issues of domestic abuse, destructive relationships, and mental illness should be relegated to that of 'teams'.  As a victim of domestic violence as well as a friend of male victims, I felt strongly for support of Johnny Depp, still do, and am very grateful that the truth has won out at last.  (Please see the Part One of this series: https://artistthriving.blogspot.com/2022/06/johnny-deppamber-heard-part-one-my.html). To my discredit, in full honesty, I was one that jumped on the bandwagon of "Amber Heard is a narcissist", even while understanding somewhat the vast differences between calling someone a 'narcissist' and the diagnosis of 'narcissist personality disorder'.  I did not know that those who I was allying myself in this regard and able to attend the trials were booing and hissing at Ms. Heard as she entered and exited the courtroom.  As a victim of intimate personal violence, I have learned that the best way to have victory over an abuser is to move forward into a successful, thriving life and not to attack in kind.  (See: Success is the best revenge!)  This includes not engaging in like abusive fashion towards the abuser, for that is allowing that person to become as a victim and feel a sense of victory.  

Then, the legal team of Johnny Depp (please notice the clarification difference in teams) brought forth a psychiatrist who had examined Amber Heard and found the dual diagnoses of Borderline Personality Disorder and Histrionic Personality Disorder.  Thus, my thoughts on Amber's abusive actions and reasoning behind shifted a bit.  I have made clearly known that I am a person living with Bipolar Disorder and CPTSD.  In the early years of my recovery, I hungrily read through several books on mental illness of many a variety and studied books on psychology.  I even picked up and read through the recent edition of the DSM (See: Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders).  At one point in my journey, I was misdiagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder in conjunction with Bipolar Disorder which started my journey on devouring all things personality disorders.  It is important to note here the similarities and overlap between these two diagnoses as well as others in the DSM.  All too frequently, those diagnosed with one disorder also have a comorbidity with another.  (I also want to add that it was later reported that I did not have BPD, but in fact have CPTSD and Bipolar which often can resemble BPD and will share this discovery in a later entry.)

Comorbidity refers to having more than one chronic illness at once. Of all the people who experience mental disorders in the U.S. (roughly one in five), 45% of them meet the criteria for two or more disorders. That's almost one in ten people who may be dealing with simultaneous mental illnesses

Thus, from my studies, I want to express the differences between that of someone struggling with borderline personality disorder, histrionic personality disorder (or both simultanously), and that of the other cluster B diagnoses.  First, I must state that I am not a certified psychiatrist, psychologist, therapist or mental health practitioner, only one with a hunger to understand as an empathic advocate as another with a mental health condition.  Thus, the essential difference between that of APD/NPD and BPD/HPD, from my research, is that of level of conscience, the former being a lack thereof (especially with Antisocial Personality Disorder (APD) and the latter having an understanding of right and wrong.

 

The fact of conscience as well as the symptoms of both Borderline Personality Disorder and Histrionic Personality Disorder changes the reasoning behind Amber Heard's actions in her relationship with Johnny Depp as well as that reported in other relationships.  If these diagnoses be correct (and often times in one's recovery there can be many a misdiagnosis), then Amber Heard does feel a semblance of guilt and remorse over her actions.  From my research in the past and during the writing of this, a person with BPD has a maladaptive way of thinking that they believe to be correct based on the emotional upheaval and trauma throughout their lives.

Borderline personality disorder is a mental health disorder that impacts the way you think and feel about yourself and others, causing problems functioning in everyday life. It includes self-image issues, difficulty managing emotions and behavior, and a pattern of unstable relationships.

It is true that I have spent less time with Histrionic Personality Disorder but I have done some bit of research for this article as well as in the past.  From those studies, I have found that the need to be the center of attention with one who struggles with HPD is based on a need for validation and escape from a feeling of emptiness.

A histrionic personality disorder, or commonly known as a dramatic personality disorder, is a psychiatric disorder distinguished by a pattern of exaggerated emotionality and attention-seeking behaviors. A histrionic personality disorder is categorized within the "Cluster B" of personality disorders.

Thus, Amber Heard's instability in her interpersonal relationships, if these diagnoses be accurate, is based on past trauma undealt with that has formed her frame of thinking increasing her need to find security, validation, and escape from the inner turmoil and pain within.  This does not mean she is not guilty of defamation and needs to be held accountable for her actions.  In the contrary, I believe she does and that this may be the reckoning that brings about a realization of her need for healing.  From this, then, it is another important reason why lashing out at her in kind is not helpful for the situation without or within.  In addition, I feel strong consideration and care should be taken for the safety of her daughter until which time that Amber Heard takes her treatment and recovery seriously.  I do not believe that the child should be taken from her entirely, but rather believe wholeheartedly in the ability for a person with BPD and HPD to live a healthy and fulfilling life.  It takes time and a lot of work to unravel the thought processes and the trauma damages that brought about the reactions of her actions, but through the efforts of recovery one can live a meaningful life.  And, if these diagnoses of Amber are correct, she, too can have this life, it may not be what she hoped for as a Hollywood actress, but her life can be joyful and peaceful if she commits to her recovery and mental health journey.

Look for the girl with the broken smile
Ask her if she wants to stay a while
And she will be loved
And she will be loved
And she will be loved
And she will be loved

She Will Be Loved

If you or someone you love is suffering with symptoms of mental illness, please contact: www.nami.org

House-Sitter

She awoke to the sun streaming brightly through the large ocean-front windows. Her eyes blinked in the morning light as she slowly rose to a sitting position. The silk bathrobe was discarded on the floor, she was naked under the sheets. She pushed the sheets off of her, picking the bathrobe off the floor and tying it out about her.

“Coffee,” was her one thought. “Must get coffee.”

She caught a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror in the corner of the bedroom. Her red hair stuck out at odd angles from falling asleep with it still damp, matted in places was it, and her eyes were puffy from crying. The meeting of Jay the night before had spiraled her backwards into a haunting memory, of allowing herself to get close in order to be left wounded. Fear had gripped her and the tears fell in reckless abandon. She turned away from the mirror and made her way to the kitchen downstairs.

The coffee pot was gurgling away as she rummaged through the kitchen for some kind of breakfast. She found eggs, enough for a scramble, and a banana that was quickly on its way to brown and had to be eaten right then and there.

She turned on the stove, cracked the eggs into the pan, and watched as the yokes sizzled in the heat, a feeling she was all too aware of. She pushed it from her eye. The coffee pot rung its alarm, signifying its finishing its job. She moved over towards the pot hurriedly, found a mug in the dishwasher, and poured herself a cup. She took it black, as from so many travels she had been accustomed to, taking whatever she could find. This was the first time she'd ever had such a luxurious surroundings and opportunity.

She sipped the coffee and turned back to her eggs. With a fork, she scrambled them, adding butter and milk she had found in the fridge. Once they were scrambled to her liking, she ate them hungrily, straight from the pan. Then, devoured the overly sweet browning banana and tossed it into the garbage beneath the sink.

She walked into the TV room and sat slowly, dejectedly upon the sofa. She did not turn the TV on, resisted that impulse to numb herself with that distraction. She had to think and think fast. No doubt, Jay had already told his parents about his meeting her and they would soon want to investigate it further. That means, she must start the preparations to leave before she was caught, the cops called, or whatever might happen. A few cities back that had actually happened. She was squatting, or doing her usual uninvited house-sitting as she called it, at a small cottage when she had been discovered and was informed by a neighbor the cops were on their way. She'd left hurriedly, with barely any time to pack, leaving something she could never replace, something of intrinsic value behind. Her heart still ached over that loss, another among many.

A gentle rap at the front door broke her revelry. She looked down and wished herself clothed more than she was. The rap came again, it wasn't an angry knock but a simple greeting, a reaching out to her. She cautiously made her way down the front entrance way hallway to the front door. Slowly she turned the knob and poked just her head out the door. A woman, in her mid thirties perhaps, stood on the front porch, smiling at her.

“Becca?” the woman said. “Good morning. I'm Jay's mom, Judy.”

“Oh, um, hi, I was...,” came Rachel's faltering reply.

“Just waking up, sorry to wake you,” Judy smiled at her and Rachel felt confused at this warmth. “I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood and see who the Jones' had hired. Do you house-sit much?”

“Oh, I, yeah,” was all Rachel could reply.

“Oh, then we should get to know each other,” Judy continued not noticing Rachel's awkwardness. “I'm always looking for reliable sitters, how much do you charge?”

“Um,” Rachel searched her mind for some amount but came up with a blank. Hurriedly, she spat out nervously, “Its negotiable.”

“Oh, nice,” Judy smiled at her again. “Well, we are having a little community get together at our house, its just right across the way, you are welcome to come.”

She pointed at the two story yellow house directly below and in front of the Jones' house.

“Maybe we'll see you there?” Judy was asking and Rachel's mind was spinning from this invitation.

“What?” Rachel wondered aloud, biting her lip to hide its tremor.

“Maybe you can come to our get-together, 6:00 pm?” Judy repeated herself.

“Um, yeah, great, that'd be fun, thanks,” and Judy smiled at her, said a warm “see you then,” and departed back down the steps. Rachel watched her go, then closed the door behind her, and leaned up against it with a heavy sigh. She couldn't believe what had transpired and she knew that she shouldn't stay any longer in this place, but something deep within felt as if she should stay, had to stay longer.

'Oh well,' she thought. 'Maybe this will be the greatest adventure of yet. Like an actress, I could slip even further into the life of Becca Jacobs.'

 She moved herself up to the master bedroom and into the bathroom. Washing her face, she started planning the sound-proof backstory that would suffice for the life of Becca Jones.  

She Will Be Loved

House-Sitter

Rachel, aka Becca Jacobs, woke up with a start. The room had grown dark, evening had descended upon the house. The TV was droning on in the background of her mind, the lights from a news show flickered on the walls of the dark room, on Rachel's face giving her an allure of pretense. She reached for the track flip phone she traveled one, this one was fairly new, she had gotten it at the last city when she realized it was time for the change. She changed her phone number with an increasing frequency so as to not be traced so easily. She glanced at the large digits and read the time 4:54 pm.

It took a moment for her to reorient herself, to remind herself of her surroundings, how she had gotten to where she was. She had passed out after finding a bottle of red wine in the pantry unopened and together with cheese and crackers, she had drank down the whole thing whilst channel surfing until finding a cheesy movie. The cheesy movie had now been transformed into Anderson Cooper relaying to her the world's events. She shook herself remembering the dream she had had, the voice of Anderson had drifted into her unconscious in his broadcast voice detailing her life up to that point.

“Rachel Anne Moore, 32, originally from Connecticut, has been on the run from her past for 12 years now, has had several aliases and existences in her travels,” came the flashback of Anderson's dream-like presence. She shook it out of her consciousness, glanced over at the red wine bottle, with only a few swallows left. What had woken her up?

Oh yes, she remembered hearing footsteps. At first she had thought they were part of her unconscious flickering but the footsteps had continued and now she thought she heard a key in the front door. Yes, the door knob began to turn, she caught her breath, was this it? Had she finally been caught or was she about to? Her mind raced as the door clicked open, the footsteps entered the house, soft small footsteps, and she sucked in her breath, holding it trying to steady her racing heartbeat.

Then, all at once, the footsteps entered the room and a young boy came into view. He squinted through the semi-darkness. She flipped off the TV just as he reached for a switch. The light that filled the room was now bright and revealing. The blanket that covered her bare legs was security, she pulled the silk bathrobe closer about her and suddenly felt self conscious that she was even wearing it. But, wearing the owner's clothing was the least of her concerns. However, chances were this young boy wouldn't recognize the lingerie of the women of the house.

“Um, hi,” the boy finally said after he had recovered from the shock of finding her.

“Hey,” she replied, trying to sound cool, collected, as if she belonged there yet her voice cracked.

“You staying at the Jones' or something?” the boy wanted to know. It was important for her to realize that he wasn't threatened or showed any real concern, this seemed somehow reasonable to him. A strange tipsy girl with wild red hair wearing nothing but a silk bathrobe and a blanket sitting in his neighbor's living room was for reasons unknown to her seemingly not an oddity to him.

“Um, yeah,” she finally recovered her presence of mind. “I'm the, uh, house-sitter.”

“Oh,” he responded and then took a moment to register that. “But, they told me to water the plants?”

“Yeah?” was all she could respond.

“Yeah, and I have Milo,” he was explaining. Milo, she thought, must be the dog.

“Well, um,” she began. “It was a last minute hiring, I guess they were really worried about security, you never know who will break in, um, to your house, right?”

“I guess so,” the boy said sadly. “Should I bring Milo back?”

Rachel's heart melted with sympathy. She shook her head encouragingly.

“Sorry they didn't tell you, guess they were too busy getting ready for the trip or whatever,” she said warmly. “You keep Milo and look after him, but I'll, um, water the plants. And, uh, I'll give you some of the cash they left me, okay?”

The boy brightened with a big smile. “That's awesome, thanks,” he replied. “Hey, what's your name?” he added questioningly.

“Go...Ra..Becca,” she stumbled out.

“Wait, what?” the boy was confused.

“Sorry, I just woke up,” she explained poorly. “I'm Becca. You?”

“Jay,” the boy answered her. “Nice to meet you, Becca.”

“You too, kid.”

“So, I, uh, should be getting home,” Jay began. He waited for her to respond and it slowly dawned on Rachel's worn out yet racing mind that he was waiting for the cash.

“Oh yeah, um, hold on,” She said quickly, standing and hurriedly, awkwardly wrapping the blanket around her legs. She walked like a Japanese women in a kimono out of the room, modestly.

The cash was in her purse on the kitchen counter where she'd discarded it earlier that day upon her arrival. She opened her wallet and flipped through the 500 dollars, finally resolutely pulling out 50 dollars for Jay. That should keep him satisfied, right?

She turned to return to the TV room to find Jay in the entry way. She gasped.

“You okay?” he wondered.

“Yeah,” she responded. “You just surprised me.”

“Oh, sorry,” he said. She handed him the money and he counted the two twenties and a ten and grinned up at her. “Wow, 50, that's more than I have ever gotten.”

She smiled at him. “Don't spend it all in one place.”

“I won't,” he said shaking his head almost violently. “I'm saving up for an xbox.”

“Oh good,” was all she could say.

“Uh, so, I'll see you around, okay?” he said at last. She nodded. “Should I leave the key or...”

“Um, yeah, that'd be great,” she responded.

He pulled the key out of his pocket and handed it to her. She took it and placed it on the counter next to her.

“Um, bye,” he said and then turned walking back towards the front door.

“Lock it behind you, would you?” she called after him.

“Yeah, will do,” he said. She heard the door lock, then shut behind him, leaving her alone with herself and her thoughts at last.

  She leaned back against the counter, shut her eyes hard, rubbed her temples, and exhaled. What did this mean? She had never once been found at any of the other places. Should she leave? But she had just gotten here, she needed rest after such a long trip, she didn't really want to run more than she had. Rest, she thought, sleep. Things would be clearer in the morning. Slowly she dragged herself up the stairs and into the master bedroom. Pulling the covers up to her chin, she stared out at the starry night sky, the waves pounding on the shore, and drifted into a fitful yet long sleep.   

She Will Be Loved