I don't do hugs, but I sympathize. I can commiserate, if that helps.
At forty two I've just very recently learned that I have AS. (Psychiatric assessment scheduled for December 9th.) I've lost so many jobs over the years because of my emotional outbursts over unfair treatment that I'd have to take a few moments to count them. Most recently because I was drawing pictures of my managers being eaten by giant rats, which I thought was more acceptable than "snapping" at people, but apparently it isn't. (I was doing that during lunch and a coworker saw it.)
Suicide has been a nearly constant option at the back of my mind for years, but I'm still here. (Despite several half-hearted attempts, three stints in a psych ward for cutting myself, and having my stomach pumped once.)
My mother has always been disappointed in me. She lives in an apartment building now and worries that when and if I visit she'll have to cook for me and/or I'll say something to the the wrong person and get her in trouble with her landlord. I can't make her understand that I do have a modicum of self control, and I manage to feed myself every day.
I've survived primarily because of my spouse, and my freelance artwork.
I like a quote from Castaway: "And I know what I have to do now. I gotta keep breathing. Because tomorrow the sun will rise. Who knows what the tide could bring?"