Some years ago while I was still new at graphology I received a desperate letter from a young man asking me to analyse his handwriting.
The handwriting went all over the place. There were no paragraphs and some sentences went all the way down along the margins as if he was short of space and had to fill up the page as quickly as possible.
There was desperation in every aspect of the letter. The slant went in different directions letters tangled into one another and many words were darkly over-written. There was no need to analyse it step by step.
It was clear from the outset that this was no ordinary letter. The contents of the letter gave the facts of his situation but it was the handwriting itself that told me everything I needed to know. I remember how strangely it disturbed me – my reaction was almost visceral.
This young man needed help immediately.
What was I to do? This was beyond the capability of any graphologist. The correct procedure of course would have been to refer him to a psychologist or some medically qualified professional. But was there time? Who knew if he would take that route!
I made my decision. I went against all codes of ethical conduct known to graphologists including those listed on the graphology plaque on my office wall.
I sat down and wrote the most untruthful analysis I had ever written in my life. I described how his handwriting showed so much strength of character and such creative potential. I mentioned how I foresaw a promising career for him in the future.
I constructed a masterpiece of lies and before I could check it out I hit the send button.
I had committed the one unforgivable offence looked down upon and despised by every honourable graphologist in the profession. I had been knowingly dishonest.
He didn’t get back to me.
In retrospect I don’t know if I would have done it again. I had always prided myself on writing fair and honest analyses but this one had strayed so far from the truth that I preferred to forget it.
Mostly I put it out of my mind. But there were times when it crept silently into my thoughts and I recalled it with a mixture of embarrassment and guilt.
And then one day some years later I received a letter.
I would never have guessed that it was from him because he gave no details, no explanations. But instinctively I knew.
According to the impressive letterhead he held an important position in a well-known company. I couldn’t tell any more because the letter was blank.
It only included a distinguished looking signature and it ended with two words: