Not The Amber Heard Diaries: Day 16 of the Trial: The Psychologist Must Die
My reputation dragged through the gutter and millions spent, only the lawyers come out on top

Today was tough, not sure how I made it through... That bought-and-paid-for rent-a-psychologist with her tussled hair and small features — “oh love me, everyone!” — telling the world i’m some kind of psycho bitch. And the way she looked at Johnny! Cheap. Basic. Bitch!
You can’t know someone from meeting them twice. You can’t assess me from 12 hours of conversation and some dumb questions. I’m complex. The basic bitch’s only truth: i’m “socially sophisticated.”
I felt some of the old feelings come back today, some of the rage. Dr Hurdle’s happy palace technique kept it on a leash for the most part: rows of kittens’ faces being smashed with baseball bats. The stress came out of me like a Jim Beam enema. Heaven!
The cameras made me look frosty. I don’t want to look frosty.
I wonder if I can turn the corners of my mouth into a lipstick-smile… Happy makeup? Hhmmm…
Note to self: produce new line of makeup called Happy Face Makeup. Possible collaboration with Loreal. Tagline: make resting bitch face a thing of the past and win over any jury with Happy Makeup. Makeup guaranteed to put a smile on your face — literally!
Johnny was playing up to the cameras again. Always the actor. He has that effortless charm — ugh! He’s too good at it.
His army of teenage stans tried to stare me down from the gallery today. They’re all hopped-up on the spectacle of it all. They think they matter. Bless their dumb faces. It won’t last. They won’t be around once he’s beat. Deadbeat.
Budget Tony Stark didn’t show or the Sleaze. E.M. I can understand — he’s a busy guy. But Franco… no excuse; he’s toxic atm, nobody wants to work with that grease ball.
My turn soon, Johnny. My turn soon.
Envy wears the mask of love — who said that? Someone said it.
Johnny looked good today. He wore the single breasted two-piece in charcoal grey that I picked out for him for Julie’s wedding. I know how to dress Johnny.
One of the jurors, a fat lady with lank hair, dribbled as she eyed Johnny from heel to ponytail. I need dribbling jurors. Maybe I should wear something similar, make them drink me in with their gormless eyes, confuse them into a vote on lust, perhaps.
He seemed tired today, his eyes hollowed out and heavy. The days are so long. It feels like we’ve always been in court, like there wasn’t a time before. Maybe it will carry on forever… a real possibility with ten-words-a-minute Johnny in the dock. Everyday I fight the impulse to tell them all to “shut the fuck up!” and be done with it. Send me to hell in a JCPenny handbag! I’m done!
Over 3 million people have signed a petition to cancel me from staring in any future Aquaman movies. 3,000,000! How do the dumb fucks expect me to pay the $50m in damages if I lose?! His fans are idiots! Screaming little girls who don’t understand the price of fame.
He sent me another signal today: he wore his hair in a high ponytail, the same as mine. You emulate those you love. He never stopped.
I hope tomorrow is a better day.
signed,
All the boys love Not-Amber-Heard
Disclaimer: the above piece is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only.






