I need help. I (M, 23) just had a fight with my dad (M, 57). This whole thing began two days ago when I woke up and, for no apparent reason, wasn’t in a good mood. Because my dad has multiple sclerosis, he needs help with various tasks around the house. I normally have no problem helping him with these chores, but because I was having a bad day, things went a little differently.

Over the course of the day, he called me three times. The issue started with me answering the phone with a slightly annoyed “Yes?” That tone apparently triggered everything. The calls themselves were standard: “Hey, can you do my laundry for me please?” “Yeah, sure.” And that was it—this is a normal interaction between us.

Cut to later in the day: I come downstairs to his apartment and he asks me what’s going on. I respond, “I’m having a bad day,” after which he immediately replies, angry: “Cool, but don’t let out your attitude on me.”

Now, I was really trying to keep my mood contained. This isn't the first time this kind of interaction has happened, and it usually ends in a harsh fight. With that in mind, I was genuinely doing my best to keep things calm in every interaction we had that day.

Nonetheless, what happened is that he started berating me. I tried to defend myself and explain that I really was trying. This lasted for about five minutes before I said, “I’m done,” and went back upstairs.

A couple of minutes later, after thinking about our interaction, I felt extremely angry. Even though I tried my best to avoid another fight, it still happened—and I thought that was so fucking unfair. I got so angry that I punched a wall with all my strength three times. (I live in Switzerland—our walls are made of concrete and brick. I knew that.) My intention wasn’t to destroy something, but to feel pain, and that’s what I got.

The result was bruised knuckles, which were clearly visible. That wasn’t a problem until today, when he noticed them and asked what happened. The interaction went like this:

Dad: “Your knuckles—what happened? Did you punch something?” Me: “Yeah, I did.” Dad: “What? Why? Did you break something?” (He’s asking this because I once broke a bed backboard, about four years ago, when I found out my then-girlfriend was cheating on me.) Me: “No, I didn’t. The object was stronger than my fist.” Dad: “Okay, but what did you hit?” Me: “A wall…” Dad: “Oh no, you broke something again, didn’t you?” Me: “No. Like I said, it was stronger than my fist.” Dad: “It’s important which wall you hit. If you hit the sloped roof, then you damaged it.” Me: “NO, FOR THE FOURTH FUCKING TIME—NOTHING IS BROKEN. YOU CAN’T SEE A THING.” Dad: “When did this happen?” Me: “Two days ago, when the other thing happened.”

Silence for about 30 seconds.

Dad: “You know, that makes me worried. I didn’t know you were violent.” Me: “I’ve never hurt a single person in my life.” (Which is true, because the anger is never directed at other people—it’s always at myself.) Me: “Anyway, can we not talk about this? This problem has been dealt with. I’m not angry anymore, nothing is broken, and nobody was hurt.”

Pause for 10 seconds.

Dad: “I think that’s incredibly immature of you—to not want to talk about this.”

At that point, I stood up and told him: “I’m not angry, I just hate that you can’t respect my wishes,” and left the house.

So here we are, three hours later, me currently 1500 meters above the ocean after walking up a mountain to cool off.

For context: I live in the same building as my dad. It’s a two-apartment house—he lives on the ground floor, and I live on the top floor in two rooms that used to be vacant. I help him with things not because he can’t do them, but because doing them causes him pain. I do it without complaint—it’s not his fault he has this illness. But my dad really, really likes to fight. I don’t think he’s a bad person, but sometimes it feels like he just can’t let things go. Even my mom (who is basically an angel) has said this—and she left him right after I was born.

My anger issues were common when I was around 12, but over the years I’ve worked hard on myself. I barely lose it anymore. This level of explosive anger happens maybe once a year, max.

After I left today, he tried to call me—I didn’t answer. I texted him:

“I’m going to talk to you as soon as I’m ready.” He replied: “Just come back and let’s pretend this didn’t happen.” To which I responded: “Okay, but I’m not in the emotional state of mind to talk about this constructively or at all. I’ll come back to you with a solution tomorrow at the latest. Thank you.”

I’ve never had mental health support. I was severely depressed a couple of years ago, and lately I feel like I’m regressing. I don’t want help because the second I do, I feel like I’ve failed. That I wasn’t strong enough.

So… AITA for snapping, walking out, and refusing to talk to him right now?

P.S. I wrote this by myself and then had ChatGPT correct the grammar and flow of the text, English isn't my first language, please forgive me. Also, no my name isn't Kyle LMAO