The author of this article herself admitted that it suppressed her happier emotions, that you couldn't truly cure yourself of depression unless you found happiness again:
"But then a friend who, last year ... had a stillbirth, told me she was pregnant again. I knew this was good news. I smiled. I ******* her that I was elated, even though the truth is I was only sort of thrilled. I couldn't feel the same depth of joy I would have a few weeks prior. When she raised her eyebrows and twisted them in the relieved sadness that comes with good news that recalls bad, I could only watch, a step removed, using words I hoped were emphatic enough to convey how pleased I was for her.
"This detachment persisted for the four months that the Botox remained active. Recognizing news as happy isn't the same as feeling joy. Sure, I appreciated not becoming emotional at a contentious parent-teacher conference. ... But I also didn't feel the expected level of worry when my ******** cried out in pain. ... Even movies that would have hooked me emotionally seemed to be dubbed over in a language I couldn't be bothered to understand. More disturbing: My friends (and husband! and ********!) stopped reacting as they usually did to me, making our interactions feel leaden and boring. Ironically, the flatness mirrored that of my worst depressions. My ********, whom I’d once been so worried I was traumatizing with my sad expression, were confused by my lack of one.
"...I felt diminished by feeling less deeply, and that, to me, was the most compelling result. ... I did experience an absence of depression. But Botox also took away other feelings, the ones we need to make us whole: joy, jealousy, frustration, triumph. Feeling leap-in-the-air excited—that was gone, too.
"My Botox did wear off... By the time my friend’s baby was born and she posted pictures to Facebook, I was able to smile-cry for a good, long time—primarily with true joy for my friend, but also with ... relief that I was still here, alive and feeling. I walked to the bathroom, looking for tissues, and saw in the mirror the same face I've always made, the one Finzi saw on his mother all those years ago—lined, expressive. I watched this face in the mirror, my most human one, and I promised myself it would be OK."