One day I come home and I start to walk upstairs, until my mom says "hey camilla, come in the kitchen, I wanna talk to you" SO I come into the kitchen and she says to me "i know that you have been using drugs" (and I don't feel guilty because during that time I hadn't been using any real drugs, just marijuana and alcohol). and I say "what are you talking about?" (trying to play the innocent role) She says "I found some stuff in your room" THe first thing that comes to my mind is the bad ass half ounce of weed that I had bought the day before and I think to myself "gosh, why did she have to find out right whenever I finally got some really good weed, why couldn't she have just found some shitty little 1/8 of shwag." But I still try to play it cool and I don't want to say anything because for all I know she could have just found a pipe or something like that. So I say "I don't do drugs mom, I just like to smoke weed, it makes me happy" I leave her and go to my room and find out that she hasn't found jack shit. She didn't find my bad ass sack of weed, she didn't find my bong, pipe, or any other paraphenalia, nothing is missing from my room. So I openly admitted to my mother that I smoked pot whenever it turned out that she merely found some stems in my trash which I could have played off as not weed. Some of you are probably thinking "so what" but the reason it mattered so much was that on my last birthday before that my parents caught me on acid and from then on they assumed that I had done every drug on the planet. So I promised them I would never do any drugs again, especially not marijuana. They basically lost all their trust in me, and I was slowly gaining it back but once I admitted to smoking weed again I had to start all over. OH well.