A viral TikTok video resurfaced this December 2025, shattering illusions for millions who grew up laughing at Ned’s Declassified School Survival Guide. There, digging in the dirt behind a Riverside, California, 7-Eleven, was former child star Tylor Chase—once the quick-witted Martin Qwerly, now 36, disheveled, blistered hands clutching cigarette butts, and openly rattling off a staggering list of drugs he’s taking. In a raw street interview, Chase casually admitted to using Prozac, Adderall, Sudafed, Wellbutrin, Zoloft, vaping—and when offered food, he asked for marijuana instead. His mother’s desperate plea rings out: “He needs medical attention, not money.” As fans reel from this tragic glimpse into a fallen star’s life, the story of Tylor Chase exposes the dark underbelly of child fame—mental health crises, addiction, homelessness, and a system that often leaves young performers to fend for themselves long after the cameras stop rolling.

The Rise: A Teen Sensation on Nickelodeon

Tylor Chase burst onto screens in 2004 at just 15 years old, landing the recurring role of Martin Qwerly on Nickelodeon’s Ned’s Declassified School Survival Guide. The show, starring Devon Werkheiser as Ned Bigby, Lindsey Shaw as Jennifer “Moze” Mosely, and Daniel Curtis Lee as Simon “Cookie” Nelson-Cook, became a cult classic for its hilarious tips on navigating middle school chaos. Chase’s Martin was the hyper-intelligent, fast-talking brainiac—always ready with quirky facts or over-the-top enthusiasm—that endeared him to viewers. Running for three seasons until 2007, the series captured the awkward essence of adolescence, blending slapstick comedy with relatable survival guides.

Born September 6, 1989, in Arizona, Chase moved with his family to the Los Angeles area to pursue acting. His natural charisma shone through in smaller roles, like appearances on Everybody Hates Chris in 2005 and as Young Adam in the 2007 indie film Good Time Max, directed by and starring James Franco. Co-stars remember him fondly as a “sensitive, sweet, and kind kid,” as Werkheiser told TMZ. On set, Chase was the energetic teen who brought levity, his rapid-fire delivery making Martin a fan favorite. The show’s success launched podcast reunions years later, with the cast reflecting on their glory days—but for Chase, the end of the series marked the beginning of a steep decline.

Child stardom often comes with invisible scars. The pressure of auditions, public scrutiny, and sudden wealth can overwhelm young minds. Experts like child psychologist Dr. Sarah Klein note that many former kid actors struggle with identity post-fame, facing “role confusion” and heightened risks of mental health issues. Chase’s trajectory mirrors this all too common pattern.

The Fall: From Creative Pursuits to Street Struggles

After Ned’s, acting gigs dried up. Chase relocated to Riverside, California, near his mother Paula Moisio, a realtor, around 2016-2018. He channeled creativity elsewhere, self-publishing two fantasy novels in 2020 under the pen name “Shrine Tylor”: A Vampire’s Salvation: Shrine and Ellen and SO BE IT: Says Jehovah. The books followed a magical painter battling darkness and ascending to heaven—themes that, in hindsight, echo a search for redemption. He uploaded poetry readings and book narrations to YouTube until late 2021, including a haunting 2014 poem titled “Bipolar”: “I’m a leaf in a running gutter with the inevitable fate of ending up in a drain… Perhaps I am doomed. Perhaps I have done nothing. Perhaps I am nothing.”

By then, instability had taken hold. Riverside County court records reveal 12 criminal cases since August 2023, including eight in 2025—mostly alleged petty shoplifting and being under the influence of controlled substances. Police interact with him weekly through a specialized outreach team, offering shelter, mental health services, and treatment. Chase, described as “cordial and cooperative,” consistently refuses. He’s not wanted for serious crimes, but his “long rap sheet” underscores escalating struggles.

A viral video from September 2025, resurfaced in December, showed Chase unrecognizable—holding up sagging jeans, correcting a passerby that he was on “Nickelodeon,” not Disney. The clip exploded online, sparking heartbreak and concern. In a December 23 interview behind that 7-Eleven, dressed in a torn jacket and Rugrats-patched pants, Chase dug in dirt while listing his medications: prescribed Prozac, Adderall, Sudafed, Wellbutrin, and Zoloft. He denied any formal mental health diagnosis but admitted vaping and requesting weed. “It’s not too shabby,” he insisted about street life. “A lot of people help out.”

His mother shut down a GoFundMe raising over $1,200, messaging: “Tylor needs medical attention not money. But he refuses it. Money would not be a benefit to him.” Some reports suggest possible schizophrenia or bipolar disorder, exacerbated by substance use.

Co-Stars Rally: A Glimmer of Hope Amid Despair

The viral videos hit Chase’s former cast hard. In September 2025, Werkheiser, Shaw, and Lee discussed it on their Ned’s Declassified Podcast Survival Guide, expressing shock and a desire to help. Shaw, who has shared her own addiction battles, said, “I miss Tylor so, so much.” Werkheiser called him “sensitive and kind.”

By December 23, Daniel Curtis Lee stepped up dramatically. The actor-comic met Chase, got him on the phone with his father (lifting spirits), and checked him into a hotel for temporary safety. Lee posted updates, exploring trusts contingent on rehab completion. “Love is all we can really give people,” he said. “I really believe we can get Tylor back on his feet.”

Even Mighty Ducks star Shaun Weiss, who overcame his own addiction and homelessness, offered a detox bed in San Clemente. Chase expressed interest in moving to Georgia for housing assistance with his dad.

The Broader Curse: Nickelodeon’s Troubled Alumni

Chase’s story isn’t isolated. Nickelodeon has faced scrutiny post-Quiet on Set documentary, exposing toxic environments under producers like Dan Schneider. While Chase hasn’t alleged set abuse, many peers have struggled: Drake Bell revealed sexual abuse by a dialogue coach; Amanda Bynes battled bipolar and addiction; Jeanette McCurdy detailed eating disorders and maternal pressure in her memoir.

Child actors face unique risks—early fame disrupts development, leading to higher rates of depression, anxiety, and substance abuse. A 2023 study by the Screen Actors Guild found former child stars twice as likely to experience mental health crises. Lack of Coogan laws enforcement (protecting earnings) and transitional support leaves many vulnerable.

Chase’s refusal of help highlights addiction’s grip: enabling can worsen cycles. His mother’s stance—prioritizing treatment over cash—reflects tough love amid helplessness.

A Nation Watches: Grief, Outrage, and Calls for Change

Social media erupted with #HelpTylorChase, blending nostalgia with sorrow. Fans shared clips of young Martin Qwerly, mourning the “doomed” trajectory. Reddit threads debated mental health stigma, while X posts called for industry reform: better post-fame counseling, guardians trained in psychology.

As Christmas 2025 approached, Chase’s hotel stay offered fragile hope. Lee’s intervention reminded us community can bridge gaps systems fail. Yet questions linger: Will Chase accept sustained help? Can he reclaim stability?

Tylor Chase’s roar from Nickelodeon stages has faded to street whispers, but his story screams a warning. Child fame’s glitter often hides thorns—mental health neglect, addiction’s pull, homelessness’s shadow. As fans pray for turnaround, his tragedy demands change: protect young stars not just on set, but for life. In his own poetic words, “Perhaps I am doomed”—but perhaps, with love and intervention, redemption awaits.