how could the heroine in my book have died?

Each day a certain vision of life permeates me. These visions, which usually rise up in the morning when i awake, after a hard night of partying, would disappear momentarily. These ephemeral visions, which range from perceiving myself as a heavy drug user to a brilliant writer, to a worthless person, to someone of substance, would leave their own distinct mark in my personality as a whole. As a character, I am rather eccentric for I tend to over think too much about life and humanity. Never I will find a second where I can just quiet my garrulous brain. But it's a gift, I'd like to think. Yes, I can take advantage of my own idiosyncrasy to something admirable- that is, to be able to create beautiful things, and to be able to write effectively of whatever things that cross my mind. Though some of these visions would last longer than they ought to be. Say for example, this one vision, which lasted for couple of weeks. I made myself believe that I was a dexterous artist, capable of painting anything that comes up in my brain. For two weeks I was only that- a buoyant artist jovially moving about, to and fro around the house, trying to catch a glimpse of an inspiration, and then, to paint it. Yet time revealed this vision's short lived course. Like the wind, susceptible to any changes, I drifted from one personality to another. Now, I am made to believe that I could be a brilliant writer, or perhaps, a magnificent fashion designer designing only of clothes that evoke elegance and simplicity.