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Name: Corey James Jensen Age: 33 years old Gender & Pronouns: Non-binary, they/them Occupation: Musician & Carpenter Faceclaim: E.R. Fightmaster Height: 6'1 Build: Athletic, lanky Sexuality: Queer Smokes: Yes Drinks: Yes Tattoos: None Piercings: Ears and cartilege pierced several times
BIOGRAPHY (TW: illness, death, misgendering)
All of Corey’s life, they were forced into boxes. The first boxes came in the form of labels; princess, daughter, angel. They came in the form of gifted dolls and ribbons and tiaras. They were forced out of dirty grey sweatpants and into pretty dresses, messy ponytails were transformed into perfectly curled hair, and basketballs were shoved into a cupboard in favor of piano playing and singing. That last part was the only part Corey found any joy in.
They had a talent for music early on, and it was their only real interest that their mother supported them pursuing, turning up her nose at Corey’s interest in sports. Music, she decided, was lady-like enough, even letting Corey embrace their passion for guitar, so long as they kept up with piano lessons as well. Corey was paraded around the state participating in competitions and talent shows, always made to dress up and perform feminity to a level seen as ‘acceptable’. They were their mother’s only child, the one chance to live out the dreams their mother had fallen short of.
Corey knew their mom loved them. She loved them enough to lose an entire family who refused to support an unwed mother, enough to work herself to the bone raising Corey alone as a single mom when their father never wanted to be in the picture. Yeah, Corey’s mom loved them, but sometimes Corey felt their mom never really saw them. In Angela Jensen’s eyes, Corey was a perfect little girl.
It took Corey many years to grapple with all the reasons their mom’s words and expectations had never felt right for them. When Corey decided they were going to move away and go to college to find themselves, they stood as tall as their lanky, six-foot-one frame would allow to tell their mother they were accepting a basketball scholarship to UCLA and majoring in Music.
In college, they realized why 'girl’ felt wrong for them, changed their name and pronouns, and started to feel at home in their own skin. Between basketball games, practice, and classes, Corey started playing local shows, kicking and clawing and scratching for any chance they could get to play music in a way that was fulfilling to them. Their mom embraced their new identity, showing up to Corey’s performances and games whenever she could.
After graduation, Corey really threw their all into their music. The shows got bigger, the audiences more intense, and Corey even caught the eye of a record label who wanted to help them put out an album. But then came the diagnosis. and any dream they had of recording an album or touring professionally was shattered.
Their mom had been growing more and more clumsy lately, dropping things, tripping. After months putting off going to the doctor, Corey finally bothered their mom into it. They almost wished they hadn’t, an entirely selfish thought that would keep them up at night wrecked with guilt for even thinking it, but when Corey found out their mom had Huntington’s Disease, that things were only going to grow worse as it progressed, they couldn’t leave her alone. Corey did everything they could to pay the bills, to be a caretaker just like their mom had done for them.
They spent years putting their dreams and desires a distant second to taking care of their mom. They’d always been good at building and fixing things, so they went to trade school for carpentry, taking whatever work they could get their hands on and playing music at any local venue with an open mic night, and the occasional indie show. It wasn’t touring, travelling, new crowds every night, but it was stable, and that was about all Corey could ask for.
Corey watched over the years as their mom’s disease slowly took her away. Her mobility worsened, she would have intense mood swings, bouts of depression, even talking and swallowing became too much for her. And all Corey could do was stand by helpless, trying to put food on the table.
When their mom passed away, over a decade after the initial diagnosis, Corey was left with an empty house and a mixture of relief, and guilt for feeling that relief. Now they’re free from the shackles that once held them to town, all shackles that is except their fear that maybe it’s too late for them to start over.
