💥 Eminem BREAKS His Silence on D12: “They Wanted Me to FAIL from the Start!” 😱🔥

Long before Eminem became the most feared lyricist on the planet, he was just another hungry MC battling for respect at Detroit’s infamous Hip Hop Shop.

That’s where he met the men who would later form the nucleus of D12—guys like Proof, Bizarre, Kuniva, and Mr.

Porter.

At first, Em wasn’t even the focus.

The group was Proof’s vision.

His dream.

He wanted to assemble twelve MCs with alter egos—six rappers, each with a split personality, hence the name “Dirty Dozen.

” It was raw.

It was unfiltered.

It was street hip-hop at its finest.

And back then, no one had any idea that one member would go on to become a global phenomenon.

That’s where things started to shift.

After Eminem blew up with The Slim Shady LP in 1999, everything changed.

Bugs—a promising D12 member—had just been gunned down in the streets of Detroit.

His death shook the group to its core.

As a tribute, Eminem officially stepped in to fill Bugs’ spot, but the weight of his fame was already casting a long shadow.

Suddenly, what started as a democratic rap collective was orbiting around one man.

Eminem signed D12 to his own Shady Records under Dr. Dre’s Aftermath label.

Their 2001 debut, Devil’s Night, went straight to No.1.

Their aggressive, controversial style—fueled by Slim Shady’s twisted humor and the group’s underground energy—made them instant legends.

But behind the scenes, cracks were already starting to show.

Eminem later admitted that while D12 was marketed as a crew, the spotlight was always aimed directly at him.

And some group members didn’t like that.

Despite Eminem’s insistence that he poured everything into the group, rumors started circulating that not everyone in D12 supported him.

In a now-infamous moment of reflection on his Kamikaze album, Eminem dropped the track Stepping Stone—his farewell to D12—where he admitted something chilling: “They wanted me to fail from the start.

” It wasn’t a diss.

It was a confession.

Em believed that some of the very people he tried to lift up were secretly hoping he’d fall.

He explained how Proof—more than just a friend, but the glue of the group—kept everything together.

When Proof was killed in 2006, it wasn’t just the loss of a brother.

It was the loss of D12’s soul.

Em went into a spiral.

He fell into a deep depression, vanished from the public eye, and watched as the group unraveled without its anchor.

The third D12 album was quietly shelved.

Members tried going solo—Proof with Searching for Jerry Garcia, Bizarre with Handicap Circus—but without Em’s backing, their efforts floundered.

Critics shrugged.

Fans moved on.

Even worse, Eminem watched as crowds booed D12 when he didn’t show up to their performances.

The fans didn’t want D12—they wanted Em.

That growing rift was undeniable.

Proof’s death changed everything, but the resentment? That was already there.

Eminem didn’t hold back in interviews.

He said he felt guilty.

Guilty for not doing more to help the group succeed individually.

Guilty for being the face of something that wasn’t just his.

But most haunting of all was his admission that maybe, just maybe, some of them resented how high he’d climbed.

And maybe they didn’t want him to win.

It’s a devastating realization—one that makes Stepping Stone feel less like a goodbye and more like a eulogy.

Eminem didn’t just leave D12.

He mourned it.

He buried it.

And in doing so, he revealed the ugly truth behind what happens when fame becomes too big for the people around you to carry.

Still, he never turned his back on them completely.

Mr. Porter remains one of his closest collaborators.

He’s Em’s hype man, producer, and one of the last remaining bridges to D12.

Swift and Kuniva still perform together, flying the D12 flag even if the crew isn’t officially active.

And Em has offered support to any of the members pursuing solo projects.

He made a promise to bring the group along for the ride—and for all his regrets, he never broke that vow.

But the public has its own questions.

Why has every group signed under Eminem—D12, Slaughterhouse, even Obie Trice—eventually imploded? Some fans call it “The Eminem Curse.

” But maybe it’s not a curse at all.

Maybe it’s the cold reality that not everyone can survive in someone else’s orbit.

Eminem has always been brutally honest in his music, and Stepping Stone is perhaps his most vulnerable confession to date.

He didn’t just outgrow the group—he grieved it.

He admitted that without Proof, the magic was gone.

And while he once used D12 as a launchpad, he never abandoned them.

He just couldn’t carry the entire weight forever.

In the end, D12 wasn’t a failed project.

It was a brotherhood ripped apart by tragedy, jealousy, and the brutal pace of the music industry.

But it also gave us some of the most unfiltered, raw, and unforgettable hip-hop moments of the early 2000s.

And for that, they’ll always have a place in the culture.

Eminem’s final word on D12 is clear: he tried.

He cared.

And when the group finally faded into silence, it wasn’t because he walked away.

It was because the heartbeat—Proof—was gone.

Sometimes the most painful breakups don’t come from betrayal or failure.

They come from loss.

And for Eminem, that loss still echoes in every bar.