Misprinted Lies (Alice in Chains/Bruno Mars)

Maybe

That was my first and last support group meeting. Ryan texted me. I decided to rest for a day.

Ryan: Hey, you alright? Haven't seen you in a while

Me: Yep. I'll probably come by tomorrow actually

I took a seat next to Ryan the next day. He just kind of stared at me.

"What?" I asked.

"You sure you're okay?"

I nodded. I'd definitely put up my walls at this point because of the support group. They made me open up so every point after, I shut myself down whenever people wanted to help me. I trusted no one and was going to let absolutely no one in. Ryan didn't push me though, which I appreciated.

Ryan and I still hadn't been doing full songs yet, which I really wanted to do. Everything was definitely coming together though. I was meeting so many cool people I wouldn't have had a chance of meeting if I planted myself with the Alice in Chains guys. I worked with all kinds of songs whether it was rock, pop, hip-hop. It didn't matter. It was turning out to be a really fun summer. I went out and bought an old Jeep when I got my license. I wanted to feel like a normal teenager. I also wanted the independence. I needed it.

Jerry was so pissed off at me. One day, I even walked into the kitchen and Jerry was talking to Mike about me. I was wearing earphones, pretending not to hear a thing.

"Mike, I just don't know what to do with her anymore. She's screaming, shaking, and talking to Layne. It's like I'm taking care of another junkie. It's like I'm taking care of Layne again. I don't wanna do this again. She won't go to the support group, talk to me, and she keeps sneaking out without telling me where she's going."

I couldn't believe he used that word. That STUNG. That really stung. He used to condemn the media for labeling Dad with junkie. He was such a hypocrite.

Jerry kept talking.

"Jerry, quiet," Mike said.

"She's not paying attention. It's fine."

I left the room. It wasn't fine. A couple of days later, Jerry gave me an ultimatum. I either went back to the Crohn's support group for more meetings, or I had to leave. He gave me a week to decide, and that week I sorted everything out in order to get the fuck out of there. It didn't go as smoothly as I had hoped.

I called the lawyer responsible for my trust fund; I needed to take out a little money. Well it was a little based on how much I had in my account, which was millions of dollars. No one was answering phones.

After a couple of days of calling, they got back to me. There was one hundred thousand dollars left. That kind of money doesn't go far in L.A. I didn't and couldn't understand. Nobody gave me a straight answer as to where the money went; my humongous portion of the Kurt Cobain fortune was gone. I used what was left of it to buy a house. Given my ridiculous medical bills, I knew I'd have to cheap out a bit on a place to live until I'd be making more money.

One day, I took a day off from the studio, something I never did.

"Not coming in today?" Ryan said, on the phone.

"I don't think so," I said. "I'm moving into a new house."

"Oh really, that's cool! Good for you. Hey listen, I'm starting a new record company called Patriot Records and I want you to work on a lot of the mixing and engineering for it. I want you to work for me, Lil. I think you'd be great at it."

"Oh wow, Ryan, I don't know."

"I know that you've never actually done a project like this and haven't done any actual songs but you've been working really hard and you've improved so much."

"Can I think about it?"

"Yeah, of course."

"I'll be in tomorrow.

The first night in this house was relieving. I wanted comfort. I wanted peace. I wanted relief. I wanted Dad. I had my own place, finally. Moving everything in was very tiring, even though I didn't have a lot. It was paradise being able to push out everything, and everybody. Living alone meant that I didn't have to explain myself to Jerry, or anybody. I didn't hallucinate for the first time in a while. When I would get the time, I would go to the doctor and find medications that worked for me. Moving out was the best decision I could ever make.

I scribbled some notes onto a journal every night I went to bed. "Dear Dad" was the title of the pages. I told him everything. I told him that I wanted him to come back, even if it was through a mirror. He needed to know that I would have lived with him until the end, no matter how sick he got. I never had a say in anything. Jerry and the doctors told me what medicines I had to take, no matter how I felt about them. Everyone else in my "family" told me to live with other people and not the one person I wanted to be with. I had control for once in my life.

It would have been devastating to hold out with Dad until the end, but I would have done it. I would have done it in a heartbeat, even if he survived another fifty years.

Through a lot of convincing from Ryan, I agreed to work with him at his new record company.

A few months later, Patriot Records was up and running. I worked on a couple of songs with Ryan. Ryan and I got really close. He saw me take pills and I told him that I had Crohn's. I built up a trust with him. He respected my privacy. We were working so much together that I figured he'd find out eventually.

It was a rough start finding people to join a little label, even with all the connections he had. It was really fun though, and that was a good enough reason to keep going. I had to. My medical bills were piling up. I learned a couple things about cars too so I could do oil changes on it and little things to save money.

I got a call from Ryan as I was mixing a  track for Travie McCoy.

"Hey Lily, it's me."

"Oh hey Ryan."

"I'm not coming in today but I wanted to let ya know that I'm having a party this Friday for Travie at my house. He's got a new song he's about to release called Billionaire."

"Alright, cool. I'll think about it."

"Listen, I know you really wanna get the songs done, but you need a break. You deserve it."

"Fine, fine. Maybe I'll stop by."