serious illness has come to me......

There was no way I could stop it. I was my fate. The kind doctor told me that I was very ill and one prime symptom was sleepwalking.
I never could figure it out myself, but I do recall my hands being wet, with that of blood and water. "Out dammed spot!" I screamed, as I tried to rid my hand of the bloody stains that dyed itself to my palms. He recalls it being very abnormal, including the things I had said. "I spoke what I should not have." Macbeth's fall is near and it is my fault pursuing him to do all it took to become king of Scotland. In one night I let out all my dark hidden secrets to those who stood, spectating me as I slept walked and spoke. Murder upon Lady Macduff and Banquo, I had mentioned. I should not have. To think now that it was just an event of dark guilt purging from me, I think not. It was the beginning of the end. I called upon the dark spirits to give me strength to do evil. Now evil is doing its deed upon me, and it is fate. My Sickness was no sickness at all; the doctor said “[my] Disease is beyond [his] Practice”, in fact I'm almost certain that the doctor knew what was going on after a bit of pondering. They did not realize, but that bitter smell of blood was eating my stomach from the inside out. The wreaking smell of death fell upon me and knocked me off my feet. It was true that “All the perfumes in Arabia could not overpower that strong smell of death.
Here, admitting defeat was a must, I was vulnerable to the backfire of help from the dark spirits. This marked the beginning of the end for me. I was dead already, no more could I live, because of my greed and lust for status and power.