Something happens in the first five minutes after I open my eyes. Before my brain boots up. Before the polite filters come online. There’s a version of me that wakes up ready to scream. Not metaphorically—scream. Like, full volume, veins bulging, primal rage into the void. I never do it, of course. But the urge? It’s there. It’s always there.

The thing is, nobody has to tell me to tone it down. Nobody needs to say, “Hey, maybe don’t say that.” Because that voice? It lives in my head. It’s automatic. That self-censorship kicks in around minute six. But before then, it’s a battlefield. I’m fighting the part of me that wants to walk down the street grabbing people by the ears, dragging them out of their TikTok haze and yelling: What the fuck is wrong with you? Stop being a fucking idiot. Look around. Wake up. Get it together.

I don’t act on it. I don’t say it. But I feel it. Every. Single. Day.

You know how people say, “Just be yourself”? This is me. Unfiltered. Unhinged. Honest. But honesty like this isn’t welcome in the real world. We’re trained to muffle it. Dress it up. Make it digestible. Because God forbid anyone feels uncomfortable.

So I breathe. I center myself. And the inner editor takes over—minute six. He tells me people have their own pain. Their own trauma. Their own reasons for being oblivious. And he’s not wrong.

But I’m tired of swallowing it.

This new blog category? This is the five-minute window. This is where the screaming version of me gets to talk before the editor kicks in. No polish. No filter. No “thoughtful nuance.” If that offends you? It should.

Because this world is offensive.

It’s offensive that we have to bottle up our truth to keep others comfortable. It’s offensive that rage has become taboo while ignorance walks free, waving flags and eating up headlines. And it’s offensive that every time someone speaks raw truth, they’re told to soften the blow.

I don’t want to soften the blow.

I want to swing it like a hammer.

This is the internal battle I fight every morning. The war between what I want to scream and what I’m allowed to say. Between truth and tolerance. Between fury and finesse. Most days I lose that fight.

But not here.

Not in this category.