Tylor Chase Back on the Streets After Failed Intervention, Raising Questions About California Crisis System
Tylor Chase, a former Nickelodeon actor, is back on the streets of Riverside, California, following a failed intervention aimed at helping him overcome his struggles with addiction and mental illness. Known for his role in Ned’s Declassified School Survival Guide, Chase’s current situation has sparked serious concerns about how California handles mental health crises.
According to Shaun Weiss, also an actor and a personal advocate for recovery, Chase was placed on a 72-hour psychiatric hold intended to stabilize him and lead to detox treatment. Weiss expressed frustration, stating, “They were supposed to hold him and then transport him to a detox facility that we had arranged. Instead, they let him out without contacting any of us.” This misstep left Chase vulnerable and without the support he needed.
The detox center, Eleven 11 Recovery in San Clemente, stood ready to receive him. Weiss had coordinated with the facility to secure a bed for Chase, aiming to set him on a path to recovery. However, the lack of communication from the local mental health crisis team derailed these plans, preventing any long-term treatment from being established.
Tragically, the day Chase was discharged, he was spotted back on the streets. Once again, a crisis team evaluated him, and during this encounter, he reportedly smoked meth in front of responders. Left cold and without shoes or a jacket, he was released again, highlighting the flaws in the intervention process. “What a mess,” Weiss lamented.
The situations surrounding Chase are not isolated incidents. His visible decline has been evident for months, with public sightings showing him struggling for basic needs. Advocates had previously reported on his deteriorating condition, and December sightings depicted Chase digging in dirt behind a convenience store, underscoring his distressing living situation. Despite temporary glimmers of hope—like when he was admitted to detox on Christmas Day—those efforts quickly fell apart.
This situation illuminates critical issues within California’s behavioral health care system, particularly how it manages involuntary holds. The Lanterman-Petris-Short (LPS) Act allows for short-term psychiatric holds, but, as in Chase’s case, these protocols often fail to connect individuals with necessary follow-up care. Jacob Harris, a local barber who participated in Chase’s recovery attempts, found the chaotic response disheartening. He had made several calls to emergency responders, but despite his efforts, Chase remained unprotected after each evaluation.
“We finally got Tylor the help he needed,” Harris mentioned in a now-deleted Instagram post at the start of Chase’s detox admission. But once discharged, Chase found himself back outdoors, left to navigate his struggles alone once more.
The flaws in the crisis initiative are echoed in a 2023 report from the California State Auditor. It revealed that many counties allow individuals to return to the streets from involuntary holds without adequate transition plans. Many patients cycle through emergency services multiple times each year, especially those with co-occurring disorders like Chase, who faces both mental health challenges and substance abuse. These brief holds rarely suffice for recovery without intensive support, and when substance use is added to the equation, the risks multiply.
As advocates call for systemic change, attention turns to state leaders promising reform. Governor Gavin Newsom’s Care Court initiative aims to provide compulsory treatment for those with severe mental health issues. However, this program is still in the early stages, requiring cooperation from the judicial system to implement. Questions linger regarding whether Chase would fulfill the criteria necessary for treatment should such an initiative be fully operational in his area.
California law defines conditions for involuntary treatment narrowly, requiring that a person be gravely disabled or a danger to themselves or others. Despite clear signs of crisis—such as Chase using meth while barefoot in frigid weather—current regulations often prevent urgent intervention. Weiss remarked, “He was clearly not okay,” emphasizing the dire need for change in these protocols.
As friends and former colleagues of Chase continue to advocate for him, the public exposure of his struggles has led to a mix of reactions—some helpful, others disruptive. Weiss cautioned against giving money to those in need on the street, noting, “You’re not helping by giving him money. You’re helping him get high.” This emphasizes the complex landscape surrounding addiction and how well-meaning gestures can sometimes backfire.
Though the door at Eleven 11 Recovery remains open for Chase, he must consent to treatment. Without his acceptance, or significant reform in the mental health system, the hope for his recovery is bleak. Weiss encapsulated the struggle, stating, “We know what he needs. But unless the system steps in to bridge that gap, he’s going to stay out there lost.”
This troubling situation illustrates the broader issues within California’s mental health and addiction support frameworks. Tylor Chase’s experience serves as a critical reminder of how well-meaning efforts can falter without proper coordination and follow-through. The ongoing challenges faced by Chase should propel serious discussions among voters and lawmakers about how to create a more effective system for mental health treatment and addiction recovery in California.
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