Smashing

MY STORY
Among nobility and well respected like my husband, I was revered as "honored hostess" by King Duncan himself. I was loving to my husband yet very ambitious. Immediately I was determined for Macbeth to be king to the seeming benefit but ultimate demise of us both. Clearly, the fastest way to usher Macbeth into commiting the dirty deed was to somehow convince him to murder King Duncan upon his visit with us. At first he agrees, but later he wavered in his decision. I was determined that this is what he wanted and that it would benefit us mutually. In response to Macbeth's uncertainty, I merely did what any woman in my position would have done, manipulate him by questioning his manhood and his love for me. Successful in my cunning, my husband carried out the plan of murder.
Far be it for me to boast, but in my obvious, inarguable superhuman strength I rallied for the occasion. My artful and sly abilities were demonstrated through my meticulous attention to detail regarding the plot for murder. When Macbeth returned to our chamber, I journeyed back to the murder scene and cleverly framed the grooms using Duncan's blood. For a brief moment, my morals prevailed. Were it not for his resemblence to my father, I would have killed King Duncan myself.Consequently, I tried to suppress my conscience in hopes that later the thought our actions would just disappear. I was sorely wrong. On the contrary, my husband and I often could not go to sleep. When we did, we were plagued by terrifying dreams, nightmares. Yet, I was somehow able to maintain my sanity and composure, even more so than my husband. I urged him to be joyful, light hearted and merry. I even rescued him from the frailty of his own conscience. When he saw Banquo's ghost, I created an excuse to explain Macbeth's visible torment. Again, I questioned his manhood. This time, my manipulation was far less successful. The situation grew worse and ultimately I took charge and promptly dismissed our guests during the celebratory feast.
Things went from bad to worse. The burden of my conscience became too great and I surrendered to complete mental and physical deterioration. One night, a chamber maid saw me sleepwalking. Concerned, she consulted a doctor who stayed and observed my night-time behavior first-hand. I was madly trying to cleanse my hands of the blood of Duncan and Macduff's family.
"what, will these hands ne're be clean?"
Ultimately I relayed the events of the day Duncan was murdered. The doctor said that my mind suffered, not my body.
Things got even worse and I experienced delirious visions. Macbeth asked the doctor to cure me or give me medicine to cure the troubles of my heart. The doctor rebuttled that he cured only physical not moral problems.
At first, I found strength to entice my husband to murder Duncan and follow through with the murder myself. As time progressed my false sense of self-assuredness diminished, yielding to the torment of my guilt and dirty conscience. I could no longer tend to my mentally unstable husband for my own demons were full-force which led to the ultimate taking of my own life.