Scars & What they Represent
Scars... What do they represent?
I'm often asked how the back of my head is so "battered" with bumps & scars. I explain the full story below, however I want to make a little point first (cos you know how much I love this stuff!).
The scars that we all have, whether on the outside, or inside, are a microcosm for life...
What I mean is, the meanings, reasons, and labels, we give our scars are a representation of our current mindset, and can often affect our attitudes, and actions.
The bump on my head was from getting knocked out in a fight, and while on the ground a guy smashed me in the head with a razor scooter.
The scars are from getting stabbed in the head with two bottles.
I also have a scar on my shoulder blade after getting stabbed with a large knife which punctured my lung.
At the time, these scars and bumps were tools to boost my ego, to enhance my macho image.. later I used them as a way to play the victim (poor me).
Now... They're a representation of a life once lived which has enabled me to use this experience to help others.
Same scars... Altered perception that brings about totally different feelings, actions, and results.
Even the scars I have on my stomach - stretch marks from weighing over 120 kilos. I used to hide them... now, again, they're representation of how far I've come and how I now have tools to help others.
What scars are limiting your present moment?
What past trauma are you holding on to?
What's making you play the victim?
Shitty things happen 100%... Though these shitty things, with a slight shift in perspective, can be the very things needed to excel your life and those around you. It could be as simple as you've been through something, now you can use that experience to help others, or just as a lesson to yourself.
Change the story to your scars... change your life x
This part below from my book, Stabbed Ego, explains those scars.
‘How you doing, boys?’ I said, shaking their hands. 'Let’s get a drink on.’
We walked to a nearby bottle shop. I returned with three bottles of Hennessy. The shopkeeper had chased me until he saw the bunch of scary-looking men I was with.
We sat in a nearby park, and in the company of two of my close friends fresh out of jail and after a few drinks I was feeling jovial. This usually meant I’d drink too much and act crazy.
Now I started pouring straight Hennessy and sculling it.
‘Slow down, Punchy,’ Billz, the leader of the crew, warned, knowing how unpredictable I was when drunk. I smiled and took another scull. I had a little argument with him but we hugged and sat back down, laughing it off.
Natch was a little quiet. He sat holding his foam cup in both hands as if he was keeping warm with a cup of tea and was deep in thought. Serving a couple of years in jail made people a little anxious in group situations, especially when there was a 120-kilo drunk person who could fight hanging around.
I sculled another drink . . .
I was on my back screaming, flailing around in a well-lit room. ‘Luke, Luke. Settle down.’ I heard a soft voice and felt a gentle touch on my right shoulder. I looked around and could see two security guards standing close by. Also in the room were a man in a dark-grey uniform and a lady in a white gown. I was in hospital. The alcohol was wearing off and I was able to get a grip on what I was doing. I stopped screaming.
‘Luke, do you know where you are?’ The pretty blonde lady with lightly tanned skin and sparkling white teeth leant into my field of vision.
‘I must be in heaven because I can see an angel.’ I smiled cheekily. She smiled back, and both security guards laughed. I was still drunk but had settled down. The security were standing guard until I stopped being violent.
'What happened?’ I asked the gorgeous nurse.
The man in the dark-grey uniform stepped in. His face was covered in wrinkles and the bags under his eyes were more like suitcases. He looked as though he should have been the one in bed. ‘You were attacked. You’ve been stabbed numerous times with a broken bottle.’
My mind raced.
‘Do you remember anything?’ the man asked.
‘Don’t remember a thing, mate.’ This was my automatic response, but this time I really didn’t remember.
‘Your injuries are very bad. The back of your head has large deep gashes and is being held together by over a hundred staples. The top of your ear was put back on by the microsurgeon. We’re hoping it was a success, but we won’t be able to tell until it heals. You’ve got twenty stitches all up your arm. Whoever did this tried to kill you.’
My head and everything else was wrapped in bandages. I resembled a fat mummy. The doctor continued talking, but all I was trying to do was remember what had happened. I’d blacked out in a crowd of people you had to be on your game around. Was it one of the boys? Did other crews we had beef with come down? The unknown was killing me.
I heard a burst of crying before I saw her. It was Mum, again cradled in Dad’s arms.
‘Don’t cry, Mummy, I’m fine.’ I was fine. I was sliced up everywhere, but I wasn’t in any pain. Luckily my injuries weren’t on my face.
Dad had murder in his eyes. ‘I spoke to Kent and he said it was one of your fucking mates.’
‘Who, Dad?’
‘Snatch or something.’
‘Natch.’ I sighed. It was indeed one of the boys who’d tried to kill me. It was a relief to find out who’d done it, but gutting to know it was one of the boys.
‘Yeah, that’s it. Natch. We’ll talk about it later.’
‘Where’s Stintz?’ I said. He didn’t get a chance to answer. Two men who were obviously detectives entered the room. I rolled my eyes and looked at Dad. Dad stopped the detectives before they spoke.
‘Mate, he’s only been in here a few hours. Leave him be.’
They looked at each other. One pulled out a card. ‘Okay. We’ll be back tonight. Here’s my card if you want to speak sooner.’ They then left.
My mental chatter was going wild. What happened? Why did he do this? I’m going to smash him. Where were the other boys? How did they let this happen? Billz and I were very close. I wondered whose side he took. He’d known Wayte and Natch for a lot longer than he’d known me, but I was always there as his right-hand man, willing to spill blood on his behalf. He was the leader of the crew, but lately even he’d been calling for me to not take things too far. I hadn’t cared. I’d set out to take the painting and fighting to new heights and I’d easily accomplished that.
Now a split in the crew might be imminent. Don’t get ahead of yourself, I thought. I wasn’t sure whose fault it was. Did I deserve it? A whole bunch of possibilities went through my frantic mind. I knew Natch was edgy when I was around. Although he showed me respect, I always felt that he didn’t like me.
He didn’t take shit. I also knew I could be a prick when drunk. Did I start it? Was it retribution for all the violence I’d had caused?
The universe will give you what you put out. I was a violent drunk and my energy sucked drama towards me from every direction. Once again, though, I’d survived. Why?
Surgery and a blood transfusion had saved my life. But Xrays revealed glass fragments deep in my skull and they had to open up my head once again.
‘The man who did this really wanted to kill you,’ the surgeon said, holding up the X-rays.
Stintz came in, wringing his hands. ‘Fuck, brother,’ he whispered, not wanting other patients in the room to hear.
‘What happened?’ I asked.
'Man, that was the worst thing I’ve ever seen. There was so much blood.’ He stared at the floor, visualising the night’s events. Then he told me the story.
...After a few more drinks, I made a harsh comment about the suburb Natch was from. For those of us caught up in ego, labels of any kind are worth fighting for, even the suburb we’re from. Natch broke his silence. ‘What, you’re talking shit about me too?’ I laughed and apologised, telling him to settle down. ‘Don’t laugh at me,’ he said, his voice raised.
‘Well, yeah, I am talking shit about you then.’
‘Boys, boys, chill out. Punchy, sit down.’ Billz knew what we were both capable of. He knew if this ego volcano erupted, someone would be seriously hurt. Being intoxicated, I thought it was a good idea to play on Natch’s anger. ‘Yeah, I was talking about you,’ I said. My conceited self-pride wouldn’t let it go. I’d accidentally offended him, for which I was a little sorry, but I wouldn’t take a step back after he challenged me. We’d never liked each other. Now we would see what the other was really worth.
‘I’m a bitch, am I? I’ll show you a bitch.’ He sat, bouncing his knees up and down, psyching himself up.
‘Stand up then,’ I demanded.
The boys jumped in to stop us. ‘What are you doing, Punchy?’ Billz held my face. ‘Fuck him,’ I mumbled. Billz held me back and I tripped over. I was in disarray and couldn’t hold myself up. A few metres away, Wayte stood by Natch, whispering. The sound of broken glass cut through the swearing. Now Natch was gripping the necks of two broken bottles, holding the weapons out wide. ‘Think you’re a tough guy? Come at me now.’
Stintz stopped talking for a moment. ‘You were blind, Punchy.’ ‘No way. I can’t remember any of this.’ Stintz went on.
‘I’ll take you and both those bottles on!’ I screamed aggressively, and I ran at him. Normal people would have headed in the other direction. But reality took a back seat to my maniacal ego. I saw myself as the King of Violence. I liked to be known as the one who wouldn’t back down, especially with the crowd that was witnessing this mess. Death was a better option than to have a blemished image. I later wondered if I would have run at him if it had just been him and me in the park. Without an audience to showoff to, I don’t even know if I would have stood up to him. My life was governed by other people’s twisted opinions.
‘You ran at him,’ Stintz continued. I threw a punch and Natch took his first swipe with the bottle at my face. Luckily, my extended arm prevented the glass from coming into contact with my face. It sliced through my arm, though, like brand-new scissors through thin paper. We both were instantly swimming in a lagoon of blood.
‘I didn’t know what to do, Punchy,’ Stintz said. ‘I ran over and Wayte forced me back with a big kick that dropped me.’ Wayte was a former kickboxer. ‘I got up and it was like we were watching a movie. I turned and told Billz to stop it. You boys were fighting and no one wanted to get involved. There was blood everywhere!’ A crazy-looking Natch stood clutching two broken bottles with my blood covering his face. He spat some of the blood out of his mouth, so I lunged at him again. I stupidly jumped back in to throw more punches and got caught with my head down. Natch took four hard, skull-piercing stabs. The top of my right ear now lay on the grass. The carved incisions in the back of my head opened wider, revealing my pearly white skull. I stood for a few seconds without saying anything, disorientated. Blood streamed from the cavernous chasms in my head, the gaping wounds yawning like a tired mouth. Then I fell, the loss of blood collapsing my legs. Stintz described it as like something out of a horror movie. Stintz turned around to see Natch and Wayte attempting to push my limp body into the flowing stormwater drain that ran through the park. ‘They were trying to get rid of your body!’ he said. ‘I ran over, lad. I ran over and pushed them away. Kent called the ambulance. Your head was in pieces around you. We all cried. You had your eyes closed. I thought you were dead, brother.’ Stintz cried and stood up from his chair to give me a hug.
‘What was Billz doing?’ I asked, hoping he’d stayed true to me.
‘He leant by your side and held your head.’ That was comforting to hear.
Motivational Speakers for schools, corporations, and guest speaker for events, Luke S. Kennedy, uses his “breathtaking story” to open audience’s eyes, and mind, up to ego – to the labels that we battle to live up to, and also demonstrates through his own thrilling examples, how worrying what other people think is ruining our relationships, following through on ideas, happiness, and success in every area. Becoming aware of ones ego and labels, is the first step towards releasing it.Luke shows how when we come into this world we are a pure spirit with unlimited potential and happiness. As life goes on though we get disconnected from this true-self - Some dramatic events will occur, we may do some regretful actions, or get negative beliefs about ourselves or labelled with certain things that take us away from this true happy-self. The further we get away from the true-self, the unhappier we become because we’re not being ourselves. Labels, ego, and worrying what people think, crushes productivity and results in an overactive and doubtful mind - a feeling of being lost, depressed, anxious, and socially awkward, is a result of this.
www.lukeskennedy.com
